G E A R I T O R I U M
by Nate-kun
Summary: Human-AU. Donald Anselmo has spent years stuck in a dead end job ghostwriting for best-selling author, Geoff "Goofy" Farmer. It doesn't help that his best friend and convenient roomie, Mickey Iwan, is mooching off him either. So when a scheme to stop this injustice turns awry, the three of them must collaborate to restore their former glories. Title will make more sense later on.
1. Assembly Line

**Wow, I just CAN'T stop writing about the Disney characters. I just love them so much, they deserve some love when it comes to KH fanficton. I suppose I'm that angel that keeps the Squeenix and Disney in balance. (Sounded better in my head.)**

**This is the tale of friendship, "drama", and romance. Hell, you might even get a cheap laugh or too. This is, "Gearitorium". A full synopsis awaits below.**

**Summary: ****AU/OOC. Donald "Don" Anselmo has spent years stuck in a dead job ghostwriting for best-selling author, Geoff "Goofy" Farmer. It doesn't help that his best friend and convenient roommate, Mickey Iwan, is mooching off him either. So when a scheme to stop this injustice turns awry, the three of them must collaborate to restore each of their former glories. **

**Yeah, a human-AU OOC dramedy about the Disney characters. Sue me, haven't seen anyone else do the idea before, so why not be the first? Before you get any wise ideas, pairings will be straight. Maybe some implications here and there but that's it. The title will eventually make sense later on down the road, just hang on, alright? One note though, this story is rated T. It's much more mature than my other currently on-going fics. So read with at least a little sense of caution.**

**This story will be lightly updated, maybe one, two, or three times a month. And it will be finished, I assure you of that.**

**I think that's enough for you to understand the basic gist of what's going to go down. So without further ado, I'll shut up now. Enjoy, and if you can, review please!**

**Word Count: 3444 words.**

**Date I Began Writing This Chapter: Somewhere Late March-Early April**

**Date I Finished: April 23rd, 2012.**

* * *

Assembly Line

Alternative Title: In More Ways Than One

_An assembly line is a manufacturing process in which interchangeable parts are added to a product in a sequential manner using optimally planned logistics to create a finished product much faster than with handcrafting-type methods. It is a pre-made routine that should never be disturbed._

"What's a six letter word for someone who can't go one day without having his anus ruptured? Hint, it's not anyone's mother." the voice he heard in his ears was registered as "innocent". But he filed it under the classification of "douchebag". He decided to play him at his own game.

"Six letters and you're saying its not "His mom"? Huh, I guess I'll go with my second guess then."

The mention of a second guess was enough to capture his full attention.

"Second guess? I never said you could have more than one guess!"

"You never said I couldn't either."

"Fine, what's this second guess then, oh fearless leader?"

"Mickey. That's my second guess. That's six letters, isn't it?"

Mickey looked up from his crossword. He ran a hand through his black hair and sighed, "You dick. I was looking for "Donald". You ruined the whole joke."

Donald didn't even turn his head to face Mickey the whole conversation, as if they had been through this situation before. Which was true, but that was the least of their problems, "The joke was ruined the second you disowned any references to "Mc'mom". Funny how that also has six letters." Donald's reference to the nickname of Mickey's mother earned him a well-deserved glare.

The lanky man shot him a roll of his eyes, "Says you. What kind of person counts a freaking apostrophe as a letter? And stop taking a piss on my mom, I ruled against that!"

"Someone who knows that letters and punctuation marks are both counted as printed characters. That would be me, hence my literature degree." Donald noted, earning a sigh from his friend.

"I don't need to hear this trash again." Mickey got up from the couch, stretching to wake his body up.

"Then don't. I wasn't planning on telling you the full story anyways. I figured I tortured you enough this month because surely I can't afford anymore time to do it on this salary." retorted Donald as he flipped the TV channels, the countless easily discardable bores of basic cable floating through his eyes.

When he earned no response, he decided to move the conversation forward.

"Daisy gets here in a few, might wanna hit the road before then. She's going to cook in honor of the new book being released." to that, Mickey's eyes widened in instant fascination. He had rarely tasted Daisy's cooking, and the times he did. It was pure bliss. The man would often wonder why she didn't prepare meals often.

Any man who would pass a chance to miss out on Daisy MacNeille's cooking was clearly someone who did not know her.

"Can I-"

"No." Donald immediately shot down his request. Knowing Mickey was going to complain either way, he turned the TV volume down and turned his exhausted head to listen.

"Aww, but come on! Her cooking is divine, how could you _not_ agree to letting me stay?"

"Look at you, we haven't even been in this room for a half-hour yet and you've already referenced the kitchen, women, cooking, and your mom. Your manners are far from being any form of etiquette."

"Oh you worry too much! What's she going to care anyway?"

"A lot. Such is the reason why I don't want you to stay."

Mickey raised his brow, but smirked when he came upon a realization, "Hold the phone. This isn't about me at all, is it? This is about you."

Donald noticeably tensed up. Mickey had him where he wanted him, "This is about you feeling like she cooked that dinner for that fatass you're always yapping on about. Not for you. Isn't it? News flash, faggoteer! She doesn't even know the jackass!" his words rang in his ears; And sent Donald miserably spiraling off the couch.

He ran his fingers through his white hair, bringing both to his face, "It's just not _fucking_ fair. I write those books. I wrote those characters. I did all the writing! Everything! And he just takes it and stomps on it! What a fucking hack!"

"Calm down, calm down. Blabbity boo hoo hoo; And how come you don't just tell someone that _isn't_ me about this sob story? Maybe you'll actually get recognition for it." Mickey grabbed the remote, raising the volume back to normal, "How come you never do anything about any of your problems? You always just wait it out. It's like a shitty soap opera."

"Because that fucker gets me a salary. That salary pays off more than seventy-five percent of the rent of this apartment. An apartment keeps me alive. Ergo, I rely on him to keep living here! Because apparently a degree in creative writing seems to only go so far when it comes to the working environment..."

"I'm starting to wonder why you gloat about it then."

"Not the point. What is is that I write all of that man's freaking books, I get paid _only_ to not squeal about it, while he gets the real money, fame, and interviews, fuck. He doesn't even know what the books he "writes" are about! I put passion into that stuff, dammit. Geoff Farmer shits on everything that our forefathers forged about literature!"

"So you're a ghostwriter for a series that everyone thinks you didn't write. That's the point of ghostwriting, idiot. You're not supposed to receive recognition for it at all. Why the hell are you fighting a fight you can't win?"

Mickey dodged the remote that flew his way, watching as it slammed into the wall and dropped to the floor. It's batteries and cartridge lid lost in the process.

Donald didn't even twitch at the wadded newspaper that headed towards him. For it was off completely by about a foot or two.

"You really need to get that attitude of yours checked."

"And you should work on improving your projectile accuracy."

"Shut up."

A pause of silence followed; And the two ended up killing it seconds later with simultaneous laughter.

"So Don. What are you going to do now?" Mickey asked, folded arms filling the gap behind his pale neck. "Heh, funny you ask. Well, I'm going to wait for Daisy to leave her house, come over here, have you get out, and eat my guilt-ridden dinner with her to the tune of classic rock. What about you?"

Mickey crinkled his nose in disgust of his plans, "But I _am _home!" he insisted.

"For now, you are. Let me remind you that this is my apartment, not ours. Me paying three-fourths of the rent while you barely make your part on couch money alone, an equilibrium does not make." chided Donald as he casually inspected for grime on his fingernails. Finding none, he blew his breath faintly before looking at his friend again.

Another pause filled the room. Mickey was the one to break it, "You really want me to move huh?"

"Explain to me how Daisy will move _in _then."

"I can stay! I won't cause any trouble, you can trust me!"

To this, Donald shot a brief glance at him. Shaking off Mickey's plead, "You aren't necessarily the worst cockblocker in this complex."

"Oh c'mon! Name one shitty thing I've done to you." said Mickey, he placed his legs on the coffee table in front of him. A grin plastered on his face.

"Well, just a minute ago you tried to kill me with a newspaper. I'm sure that act alone will do wonders to your final score." Donald bluntly answered, seemingly more focused in fumbling with the remote. Mickey got up from his couch to trot over to the one his roommate was on. He clicked his tongue in frustration, and lightly punched Donald's shoulder.

"Come on!...What if...What if I pay half the rent instead of a fourth? ! Don't throw me out, Don! Not yet!"

Donald blankly stared at the television screen, deciding that CBS was more worthy of his attention at the moment, "Attention, jackass. You're already supposed to pay half of the rent."

When he turned to see what Mickey was now up to. He tensed up at the sight of him begging.

Donald heaved a sigh, feeling that he's had enough fun. Turning to Mickey, he paused before resuming, "Is that a statement or a question?"

Mickey looked up with a confused face, "Huh?"

"Your plan. Is it a statement or a question? It tells me if you're standing up to my demanding rule or not."

Mickey's lip quivered as he pondered his decision, "Uhhh... Statement?"

"Alright. Get up." demanded Donald as he helped Mickey out of his begging position. "Tell you what, Mick. You pay seventy-five percent of the rent this month. You can stay. Fail, your ass is out of here, and I mean it this time."

"It's a deal! Fuck yeah, you won't be disappointed, Don! You'll be happier than that time you won the Crossword-a-Thon!" Mickey jumped into Donald's arms to crush him into a hug. The latter cringed and pushed him away.

"But I didn't win the Crossword-a-Thon. Hell, I wasn't even _in _the Crossword-a-Thon. That was you! Even worse, you didn't even win; And don't hug me without notifying me first or showering, jesus christ." Donald dusted off the imaginary dust from clothes while Mickey picked up the newspaper from earlier.

"Huh, really? Funny. I don't recall that, oh well! You'll make it big in the crossword world, Don! You just gotta believe, here, you can practice with this!" Donald took the newspaper being handed to him with roll of his eyes. Looking on the crossword puzzle, he noticed the selection of words his friend chose to use.

Needless to say, he wasn't surprised. Judging by his sense of humor, no one should have been.

At that moment. The phone started to ring, which briefly caught Mickey off-guard. "Oh crap, it's the fuzz! I didn't do anything bad this time!"

Donald slapped his hand to his forehead, slowly dragging it down his face. He whipped his hair in an effort to look tidy and cleared his throat. "It's just the phone, dumbass. Hold this, I'll be right back." he handed the paper back and walked towards the phone to answer the call, muttering curses regarding his lack of presentability.

Mickey tuned out the phone call by directing his attention to the television, but he began to feel incomplete. As if there was something he was forgetting to do. He shook off the thoughts after failing to remember. With a yawn, he declared that he would recall whatever it was soon enough.

It didn't take long for Donald to come back; And when he did, he looked disappointed. "That was Daisy, looks like she isn't going to be coming today. She has to start preparations with this new gal pal of hers. Figured I wouldn't mind if we missed one date. So good news for you, you get to stay and not be locked in your room tonight! Ain't that swell?" asked Donald with a faux smile.

"Oh god, that's excelsior!" Mickey got up from the couch to jump in happiness, legs curling up in mid-air.

"Hmph. Don't get too happy. With Daisy gone, you're ordering food. Since this is my apartment, I choose where we eat.-"

Mickey interrupted with a discerning point, "But you chose last week! It's my turn!"

"What? You think you're going to choose with the salary _you're_ earning? Lesson number thirty-three: There are times for jokes and times for seriousness. Let's diverge into the latter route, okay?"

"Ha, I got you! I don't _have_ a salary! Take that, smartass!" Mickey cheered with a fist pump.

Donald grabbed the phone and lightly chuckled to himself, "That's exactly my point," he punched in a few numbers and threw the phone to Mickey, "tell him we want two large ones. Usual toppings. I'll be in the back room working on the new novel. I'll get the door when he comes, god knows you're anything but sociable.

"Hey! I'm sociable! What are you talking about?"

"Where's your girlfriend then?"

Mickey crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow, pupils darting upward. When his thoughts came up blank, he lowered them back to his friend, "My what?-"

"Apologies for my redundancy, but. Exactly. Which brings me to my next point, Mick. You need to get laid. Maybe get a job too while you're at it. Right now you're some sort of hipster, stoner hybrid of a best friend. That's not too classy anymore these days."

Mickey put the phone to his ear and placed the order, ignoring Donald's claims by placing his hand before him.

Once he was done, he placed the phone back on it's cradle and lied on the couch, "Whatever. So, what's this new novel about?"

Donald shook his head, "I haven't a clue. It was a miracle I even came up with the last one. Still hate that Geoff fucker for jacking credit for 'em. Anyways, today's supposed to be brainstorming day. Nothing too serious. Might write the prologue if I get a brainspark, you know the deal."

"Right." Mickey gave an encouraging nod. But his eyes widened during the action, "Shit! That's it! I remember now!" he sat up and crawled over on his knees to the drawer-table that stood near the couch. Opening the drawer, he took out a pair of fuzzy black earmuffs. Placing them on, he hooked up his MP3 and began playing music, mentally declaring that an earmuff-earphone hybrid was the best invention ever.

"Winter's coming." he bluntly noted.

"You're an ass." Donald flipped him off, not taking his excuse for ear-wear lightly.

And he left the room without another word.

* * *

Geoff Farmer was your average man. Not too unorthodox, not too much of a douche. He wasn't half-bad either. Course, complexion should be the least of your problems when you're rich. In Geoff's case, this wasn't any different. Save for the guilt ridden lies he had to push through daily. It came packaged with the job after all.

Geoff maneuvered through the office cubicles quietly, writers among writers were packed in each of them. Mindlessly writing the books that were all credited to him. He knew he was being used simply to fool consumers into purchasing nonsense. But he didn't really care anymore by this point, the writing industry has sunk to a new low. And as Geoff sat in his own cubicle. (The one in which work wasn't produced and loitering was encouraged.) He knew it wasn't getting any better.

"Mr. Farmer?" squeaked a voice from behind him. Geoff froze his fingers above the keyboard. Typing in his password would have to wait.

"What is it, Chip?"

"I have the newspaper for you, just like you asked!" Chip handed the newspaper over quickly, Geoff took it and immediately scanned his eyes at the headline.

Chip saluted him by pressing an arm to his forehead, "Don't worry one bit, Mr. Farmer! You won't have to lift a finger, the writers in this place will hold the fort down. All you gotta do is relax, pose for pictures, and go to interviews! And with Dale and I as your secretaries, we'll make sure nothing goes down! O-oh! And I brought you a cup of coffee, courtesy of Dale. He wanted to make sure you start today off on the right foot!"

Geoff took the cup, silently took a sip, and noted the bitter taste. After a few more sips, he spoke again. "Don't you mean ghostwriters?"

Chip cocked an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"The writers here. They're not writers, they're ghostwriters!" Chip nodded quickly, he ambled over to Geoff at a nimble pace.

"Well, sure. Of course they are, don't you see, Mr. Farmer? All these guys get paid just to sit in a cubicle and write a story for the world! Then we get someone like you, you pose for an author's photo, and then we claim the author of the book was you! You get paid to sit there and like good, while the rest of us haul work. Then the cycle starts all over again, and the world never ever finds out!" explained Chip. Now that he was so close to Geoff, his size became extremely imminent.

As Chip continued to ramble on, Geoff laid his eyes on the headline again. "New York Times best-selling author Geoff Farmer breaks record for number of book sales in first week for newest novel!" he read outloud. Chip scratched his chin in confusion, wondering where he was going with this.

Geoff narrowed his eyes and looked away from the newspaper. "And you never once thought this entire "cycle" was a bad idea?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"Well, everyone kinda thinks I'm the reason for the book's success. "

"But you are, Mr. Farmer!"

Geoff turned around and sat the paper down. He began typing in his login password, "Enough of the "Mr. Farmer" nonsense, Chip. This is the twelfth time this week I've had to remind you 'bout it!"

Chip jumped up and nodded vigorously, "O-oh, yes! Right away, uh, um, _Goofy!_" with that, Chip scrambled out of the cubicle, leaving Geoff alone to his "work".

His eyes looked up from the computer monitor, "With that kind of authority, I don't think you can call me that just yet. Keep trying though!"

He continued typing. The only sound throughout the entire office being the clicking and clacking of each and every keyboard.

It was your modern day torture symphony.

* * *

"Why do you use one of the few day offs you have this month just _working_ even more?" Mickey asked, his lack of etiquette clearly showing as the bundle of spaghetti rolled around in his mouth, "Thanks for letting me order the pasta by the way. Really goes good with the pizza."

Donald looked up from his food, "I didn't know you were so interested in what I did on a day-off."

"Well you should be relaxing! Instead you're locking yourself up in your room to work on that novel. We could be in the living room right now watching television, you know." Mickey rolled his fork into more spaghetti, and brought it to his mouth.

"I find it humorous how you complain about my work when it's clear that you'd never understand what I have to go through."

Mickey swallowed his pasta and let his palms fall to the table, "Hey, was that a crack at me?"

Donald merely put on a faux muse, "I don't know. _Was it?"_

"I can get a job whenever I want to, it's just that openings are slim!" Mickey retorted, pointing his fork at him for added effect.

Completely ignoring the latter point, Donald replied with a witty tone, "Then get one. All you do everyday is literally, eat, drink, sleep, and shit. I'm not kidding. You mooch off of me and I can't help myself to kick you out because you're my best friend. You should be lucky I even let you stay for this month."

"I'll get one when you help me get one."

"You'll get help to get one when I finish with my work. Estimated time should be in a few months."

Mickey's eyes widened, he almost spat out the food he was chewing, "A few months? ! How do you know if the land lord won't kick us out by then? !"

Donald cracked a smile and looked at him, "I don't. That's why you should get a job now. Look, fuck it. Since you're gonna whine, I can't risk waiting months and losing this place due to your laziness... I suppose I'll help you search tomorrow for one. Alright? Me and Daisy are heading over to the shopping complex. Perhaps you could get a decent hipster job there. Y'know, I hear working at department stores is everyone's new thing."

"How many times have I called you a savior this month?" asked Mickey as he helped himself to another serving.

"More than I can count, and in more ways than one." Donald replied, he got up and pushed his chair in, taking his plates to the kitchen.

The abrupt response threw Mickey into a disturbed silence.

"Maybe one day, you might just be passable at it!" exclaimed Donald from the kitchen, referring to his occupation skills.

"Are you _trying_ to make my day horrendous?" Mickey yelled, clearly he wasn't amused.

* * *

**Neat, the first chapter was completed! I'd like it if you guys read and review, that stuff makes me happy. You don't have to, but it would be appreciated.**

**I'll try to get the next chapter out as fast as possible to keep you guys' interest intact. See ya real soon!**


	2. Manual Labor

**Thanks to those that read the first chapter, I'm glad you found an interest with the storyline. So I'd like to stop for a minute and talk to those that did review, just to warm us up for today's chapter and noise:**

**Mighty Agamemnon: Thanks for reviewing! I hope you keep up with the story ^^" Yeah, Mickey's kind of stuck in Donald's shadow. (Even though no one really knows about Donald's talent that much either.) That'll be touched upon in a later chapter!**

**I originally had trouble uploading this chapter because it refused to bump it up to the front page. I had to go back and forth a few times. Hope this time it works!**

** Word Count: 3514 words.**

**Note: Mickey's failed "children's book" draft, _The Little Red Dog That Couldn't_ is in no way intended to antagonize gays. Let's just make that clear first of all. It's just something that shows off Mickey's horrendous writing skills.**

* * *

_Manual Labor_

Alternative Title:_ The Little Red Dog That Couldn't_

_Manual Labor is physical work done by people, most especially in contrast to that done by machines. It is most literally work done with the hands, and, by figurative extension, it is work done with any of the muscles and bones of the body. In recent years, manual labor has been replaced by machines capable of producing similar work. Yet in a shorter, faster timeframe._

"Stop it. I'm not going to tell you again." warned Donald. His attempt of cooling himself down by blowing air and drumming on the steering wheel wasn't working to the extent that he had hoped.

"You said that one paragraph ago."

"And I'm reiterating it. Stop. It."

Mickey cleared his throat, he opened the small book to the next page and despite Donald's protests, began reading.

"Ahem. Chapter thirty-seven of _A Lecture in Hindsight, by Geoff Farmer. _More commonly known as Donald Anselmo. Speaking of which, what the fuck does that title even _mean?" _Mickey asked, Donald wondered how he read thirty-seven chapters into the story; And was just barely questioning that now.

"It's symbolism, you dope." he pressed against the pedal of the car now that the light ahead of them was green. Mickey briefly bounced forward, but he caught his balance before his jaw could collide with the dashboard.

"Symbolism? For what?"

"Are you retarded? Can you just not read deeper?"

"I like to believe that I'm just challenged. But in all seriousness, I'd probably be lying if I said no."

"Whatever, guess I'll go ahead and tell you while we're on the road. Anyway so yeah, you're on chapter thirty-seven, so as you know, Kairi's been raped at this point; And Sora feels that it was his fault, seeing as he let her go out alone at night while he went out with his buds."

"I get that. What I don't get is the lecture and hindsight stuff."

"That refers to Sora's lack of responsibility. He could have lectured Kairi on the dangers of going out alone, especially in the dark. But he didn't, because according to the flashback in chapter twenty-two when he was a child. He never learned how to say "No." due to the frequent demands and high-expectations of his ever-bickering parents." explained Donald, he hit another red light. So he braked to avoid vehicular contact.

"Still don't get it. Can you explain it to me in a way that lacks the literal crap? We all didn't go to college, you know." mused Mickey, his finger was tracing shapes into the foggy window. Winter was indeed coming, and that meant it was the perfect time to "draw" shapes in the windows of cars that a kindergarden could do. (And perhaps do better.)

Donald sighed, "Alright. The lecture was that. In hindsight, which I remind you means, _"Judgement of events that have already happened."._ Sora could have told Kairi to stay in the kitchen and not get her anus ruptured. But _nooooooo_, that bitch just had to go out and get raped. The lecture of potential danger that Sora never gave. Also, the book implies Sora himself was raped by his dad. Which also contributes to why he can't say no, because he can't stand up to anybody. Think that was in chapter twenty-nine."

A snicker of laughs flew by Donald at the mention of the kitchen. A tiring joke, but it never ceased to make him laugh.

When he stopped laughing, Mickey looked over to his friend, "Could have done without the last part though."

Donald rolled his eyes and continued to focus on the road, "Whatever. At least you're not in the dark anymore. Now can you stop reading my book?"

"This is my copy, I paid for it-!"

"No you didn't. That's one of the first copies ever produced, I gave it to you as a present. Not to read out loud in front of me." chided Donald with a waggling finger. He took a wide turn, causing Mickey to suddenly bump into him.

"Get the hell off of me! Are you _trying _to crash us? !" he pushed Mickey off of him, focusing on the road once more. His roommate steadied himself before speaking again.

"I don't really have a reason to right now, so no. I never knew you were so nervous about your work being read in public."

Donald shifted his pupils in either direction, mumbling a few words from his lips, "I don't think anyone likes that."

"I do!"

"Except your work isn't really what any professional would call, 'good_'_." retorted Donald with a mild chuckle. While the statement was true, Mickey never liked having to admit it.

Mickey threw a minor punch at Donald's shoulder for the comment. He barely flinched, and responded by flicking his forehead.

"Ow! Just because you're heartless doesn't mean you have to make everyone else feel like shit! I mean, I may not be a good writer, but at least I have some talent!"

He watched as Donald cackled. It was another one of those days, the days in which Donald would get his way, and act like a major douchebag because of it.

"Oh really now? Well then. Let's read your manuscript then, shall we?"

"Wait, no-!

But it was too late. Donald grabbed the script and cleared his throat. "Ahem. _The Little Red Dog That Couldn't. A Children's Book That Teaches Children That Sexuality Does Not Matter When It Comes To Love _by Mickey Iwan." thankfully, his peripheral vision granted the two safety from any motor accidents while he read.

"_Once upon a time. There was a red dog. He was sad. One day he went up to the other dogs and said, "Hey. Can I play with you guys?" the other dogs all shook their heads, "No. Because you are straight. And therefore we do not want to play with you. You have a small penis._"

Donald tried to contain his laughter while Mickey held himself in a fetal position.

"_The little red dog went back home, sad because the gay puppies did not let him play. He called his girlfriend, told her that he could never be the very best. Like no one ever was. Afterwards, the little red dog grabbed a revolver he stored in his piggy bank. And promptly shot himself._"

"_The end."_

That's when Donald bursted out in a giggle fit, he slammed the manuscript on the dashboard. Tears were welling up in his eyes.

"S-stop it! It was my first script, a-and I was in high school, a-and you knew I was going through a very confused phase!"

"Alright then. Nevertheless, prepare for sodomized insults. First of all. That script isn't even a page long, dogs cannot be red, dogs cannot talk, the story taught children nothing about sexuality. In fact, it taught them nothing at all other than the fact that killing yourself solves everything. Next, having a small penis and being straight shouldn't stop you from being yourself. Guns can't be fit into piggy banks, and I don't think children should be even learning such a subject in the first place. Finally, a _Pokemon_ reference, really? What are you Mick, fucking fourteen?"

"We were back then!" replied Mickey with a cheesy grin and a shrug.

"Emphasis on back then. Look, it was your first time; and I know you can do better. Which is why tonight, after we get you a job. You're going to be writing.-"

"No way!"

"Oh, "yes way"!" retorted Donald in a tone that mocked Mickey's voice, "You don't have a say in this. So stop acting like you do."

Mickey gave in, and focused on the surroundings outside the vehicle. He knew he didn't have much of a choice. That and, he wanted to die knowing that he was appreciated for being something other than a hack writer. A hack writer who's only publication involved a very sexually confused canine.

"Fine."

* * *

Daisy yawned, reaching out to hit the alarm clock that disturbed her slumber. Getting up from the bed, she made her way to the bathroom to prepare herself for the day.

Following her half-hour long routine of "preparation". She walked over to her phone. Two messages.

One from Donald, and one from that new friend of hers.

The former was no more than a heads-up on the man's current schedule. If the message was to be believed, then Donald was currently being harrased by Mickey in the car while on their way to carry out errands.

She didn't question his ability to text and drive without killing either of them.

The latter message requested her presence at the local cafe in about forty-five mintues, that is, _if she had no other plans._ She read the message with a mental image of her, and her voice playing in her mind. An inside-room's tone accompanied it.

Seeing as there was nothing else to do. She decided to take her up on that offer, even if she was going to do it anyway.

She replied back, a simple assertion that she would be there, she received a reply in seconds. An assertion _of_ her assertion, apparently.

She knew the two of them would have much to talk about, after all. There were many spectacular things to do and observe in the city. So for a girl that just moved in, she was in for more surprises than she could count.

Daisy trekked to her living room, she opted to leave immediately rather than just kill-off time. As she didn't want to keep her new acquaintance waiting. It just wasn't good hostess-ship. Especially for someone who just moved in.

Then again, considering the fact that the girl _was_ new to town, she was probably going to get lost in the road and end up getting there at the last minute.

Daisy clicked her tongue, she knew that she was going to end up waiting for her instead.

* * *

"Really? Why are we _here_ of all places? I thought we were going to the mall!" Mickey complained, he reluctantly unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the car. Donald repeated the action, with the addition of locking the doors as he got out. He scoffed at his friend's attitude.

"The mall? Funny, you never told me you were a tenth grade A-class slut."

"Well, you said we were going to the store!"

Donald snapped his fingers, "Ergo. Store could refer to any store on the planet. Why you assumed to automatically associate it with the mall, I'll never know."

Mickey lightly punched his shoulder in response to his cold retort, "I don't really think a fucking _flea __market_ counts as a store. If anything, it's just a bunch of stores put together!"

Donald stuck his finger in the air, "Actually, this is a _farmer's_ _market_. Not a flea market. We're here to stock up on groceries because the one's here are more guaranteed not to kill you of overriding fat."

"Sometimes I don't think I understand your logic."

"Such is the reason why I'm in charge. Now get a basket and let's get this done! You know what they say-" Donald started, but Mickey finished the saying for him, albeit in a less motivated tone.

_"Don't cause racket, pick up a basket..."_

"That's the spirit!"

Donald and Mickey maneuvered through the crowd, stalls were everywhere, which was why everyone was crowding pretty much everywhere. The windy atmosphere helped cool the two off though, as neither were in favor of the body heat of the people they kept walking into.

"I don't know why you insist on wearing those earmuffs, Mick. It's only the eleventh."

"And?" Mickey replied, questioning his logic again.

"Of November."

"Maybe I just want to prepare for winter. Plus, the wind is kinda chilly!"

Donald rolled his eyes, "Well if you desire to earn weird looks, even from me. Then please, go on right ahead. There's no one stopping you." Donald said as he retrieved a small piece of paper from his pocket.

"Ah, peaches. Mick, get in that line and pick up a few pounds, alright? I'll get plums, it'll save some time and stop us from wasting it. You want to get home right?" Donald asked, looking over to his roommate. He nodded, taking the cash and entering the peach line.

Donald heaved a sigh, entering the line for the plum stall, "About damn time. Now maybe I can get some time to think, with that asshole off of my back for a few seconds."

Luck just wasn't on his side today though. As evidenced by the vibration in Donald's pocket. He sighed, fishing the phone out and hoping it was someone actually worth talking to.

Pressing the talk button on the device, he pressed it to his ear, "Y'ello?"

"_Don, baby! Just the writer-that-no-one-knows-about that I was just itchin' to talk to!_"

He sighed, it was this loon. _Again._

"_Listen, buddy. Sales for a Lecture in Hindsight are through the roof! Y'know, like me and the misses last night, huh, huh? !_"

Unfazed by the sexual reference, Donald narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat, "Please. Just get to the damn point, I'm buying plums for god sakes!"

"_Plums? Ha cha cha! Ya gotta be freakin' kiddin' me Don, y'know how much juice they pack into those things? If I were you, I'd go with mangos. Damn, they pack a **whole** lot more juice into those babies! And what's this about you thinkin' plums are more important than this conversation?_"

Donald raised an eyebrow, his initial thought was that he didn't like fruit with juice in them. Then he goes out of the blue and implies the exact opposite?

"In the context of this situation, yes. Plums are more important than you. So, if you can kindly hang up, I can get back to purchasing said plums. Guy's gotta eat, _y'know?_" he finished the last of his sentence in a tone that mocked the caller.

He was bad at impressions, though.

"_Don, calm your tits. I just wanted to give you the deadline for the rough draft of the next book. How's about... Early January?_"

"You want me. To write a rough draft of a book in about two months?"

"_That's what I just said!_"

"Can't you get someone else to do it?" Donald asked, stepping forward in line. Just two people away from those damn plums.

"_Nonsense! You're the best writer on the team, and the only one who finished college and isn't an unpaid intern! People yearn to read shit crammed out by you, and only you. So I have high hopes that you won't disappoint me, your supervisor, or Mr. Farmer._"

Donald scoffed at him, "Mr. Farmer is paid to literally steal credit from me, and pose for author photos. I highly doubt he even cares, more or less even knows that I exist."

"_Whatever! Just write it, edit it, publish it, sell it! Test audiences are already going crazy over it!_"

Donald relaxed by heaving another sigh, it was just one rough draft after all. If he worked at a balanced pace, he could probably-

"Wait. Test audiences? The hell do you need test audiences for a book for?" his eyes widened after realizing what he had just told him. He should really start paying more attention to calls.

"_Pre-release speculation, of course! We gave 'em a basic outline of what we expect from ya, and people are already booming all over on the internet hoping that it'll be crap! Ha cha cha! 'Ol Don 'ol buddy 'ol pal, you're gonna make these fellas proud!_"

"Wait. Wait. You're saying that I'm not even allowed to come up with a theme of my own this time?"

"_Yeah. Just write what our outline says._"

Donald clicked his tongue at the incomplete answer. He seriously needed a refresher on the dangers of exchanging information through telephone calls, because he honestly didn't get why he was being so secretive.

"Alright...What does the outline say?"

"_It's in your inbox._"

"Uh-huh, nice to know. What _does_ it say? Emphasis on _say!_"

"_Fuck if I know! Heheh, just check your damn inbox and get back to work!_"

"How the hell do you know the audience reaction to the outline but not know the outline itself?"

A voice cut off the caller's resposne, and brought Donald back to his current situation, "Next!"

_Right. Purchasing plums._

"Listen, I gotta go. I'll get it done, cool your fucking ass." with that. He pressed the red button and disconnected from the call, ignoring the inaudible pleas from the caller as he did so.

Donald walked up to the stand, "Just a few pounds. In a hurry."

The shopkeeper nodded, wordlessly accepting his request.

* * *

"I just don't understand how you can get lost so easily. Thank goodness I found you when I did. Who knows what kind of pervert could have been onto you by now." said Daisy to the woman accompanying her. Whom she had just found earlier, hopelessly wandering the streets.

"W-well, It's not like I've lived here my whole life!" she retorted with a pout, albeit with notable stuttering.

"True, true. Remind me to print out a map for you when we get back." Daisy said, her acquaintance nodding to confirm the idea.

Daisy absentmindedly stirred her coffee, never before had she played the part of a tour guide, so the entire experience was bound to be nothing short of exciting.

The nervous voice of the woman before her interrupted her thoughts. Daisy mouthed a barely audible "Huh," and adjusted her pupils to her new friend.

"I said, thanks."

She replied almost immediately, most likely due to her confusion over the matter. "For what?"

"Well, um... Everything, actually! No one has ever been this kind to me before. You know, with the uh. Helping me around town and all and moving my stuff in. It's just um... It's really weird, we haven't even known each other that long. Why would you go to all the trouble of helping me?" she asked, her voice stopped in between words to debate whether or not a nicer alternative could be used.

Daisy took a sip of her coffee, smiling as she put the mug down.

"No problem, you just looked like a nice, quiet, fragile girl who just needed help finding her way! Now here we are, sitting here like idiots and talking about memories that aren't even a month old yet. I think it's clear that this friendship is far from over."

"O-oh, well, um, thank you again. I'm glad I gave you a chance and vice versa. The last time I believed in someone, it resulted in a climatic end of our ship." she said, a small blush covering her cheeks.

"That sounds terrible!...And cliche..." Daisy exclaimed, although the latter part of her response was drowned in a state of self-awareness.

"It happens more often than you think." she bluntly replied.

"Really? With who?"

She looks outside the window that accompanied their booth, "Everyone, really."

"I think I'm just cursed to have everyone hate me, does that sound too far-fetched?" she asked. Her eyebrow raised and a concern look on her face.

"I think you're just over-reacting. The whole time you've been here, no one's treated you like crap. Then again, no one aside from me has treated you well... Got it! I have your diagnosis!" Daisy exclaimed with a finger directed to the ceiling.

"Ooh, what is it?"

"You're a normal girl, like everyone else! You're just the kind of girls that want attention, but don't know how to get it, so you act like the whole world is against you. Some_ people_ find that very annoying, you know." explained Daisy.

"I know, thankfully I haven't met any."

Daisy went back to stirring her coffee, "It's weird though. Sometimes, people like that are _closer_ than you think."

"That sounds genuinely frightening. Subtle context aside, do you think you can help me?" she asked, leaning in with both of her arms on the table.

Daisy didn't stop to think, she quickly nodded.

"Definitely! Anything for a friend!" Daisy smiled, and gave the girl a handshake to seal the deal.

"O-oh, thanks! Sorry about, well, this. I'm not used to the whole consistent compliment thing." the girl said. She rubbed her cheeks, hoping that would somehow make it go away. Returning her gaze to Daisy, she cocked her eyebrow again, "But how are you going to do it?"

Daisy sipped her coffee, "Don't worry! Just leave it to me, I'll do everything. I know a guy who's full of emotions , he let's him out left and right!"

The girl had lend an ear in to hear the details, but Daisy was pre-occupied with her phone.

"Mind waiting? I'm going to call that guy right now, see if he has any spare time and such. I'm sure he won't mind!"

She lit up with a grin, "Alrighty!"

After dialing the number, Daisy placed the phone to her ear.

"_Y'ello? This better be quick. I'm carrying plums._" Donald answered with a groan.

* * *

**Great! The second chapter was completed! And before the story was published too, heh. Don't forget to read and review, guys! I'll get back to them in a future chapter. ^^"**

**Date I Began Writing This Chapter: April 23rd, 2012.**

**Date I Finished: June 16th, 2012.**

**That long break was because I had other stories to work on at the moment. When they're done, I'll be free to continue writing this more.**

**See ya next time guys!**


	3. Total Quality Management

**Time for chapter three! Nothing more to say here aside from that, so I'm going to respond to a review I got :)**

**Guest: Thank you! Yeah, it is kinda different from all the other Disney stories, but that's what I was aiming for and I'm glad that you appreciate it ^^"**

**Mighty: Thank you for reviewing again ^^", yes I remember you from my other stories. And please, take your time to finish them, I don't mind! **

**Alright, with that in check, let's get the show on the road!**

**Word Count: 2621 words.**

* * *

Total Quality Management

Alternative Title: A Girl By Any Other Name

_Total Quality Management is an integrative philosophy of management for continuously improving the quality of products and processes._

"There's good news, and there's bad news. Which do you want to hear first?" Donald broke the ice after an awkward fifteen minutes in the car. Normally, the second the car engine came to life, Mickey would be going on and on about various topics that ranged from stupid to other times, quite disturbing.

This day wasn't one of those days.

The pale, white-haired menace that Mickey had grown to call his buddy after all these years seemed, distraught. Not that his face didn't always look so agitated and stressful, it was just that this time. It appeared that he was actually really _serious _about it.

Mickey didn't know whether to categorize this milestone as a positive or a negative. Judging from how uncomfortable he felt before Donald chose to spoke, he was leaning more towards the latter route.

"Uhh...Bad news?"

"Bad news is that we won't be finding you a job today. Something's come up."

Mickey gasped, looking at the man with wide eyes, "W-what? ! R-really!" he stuttered, almost looking overjoyed, "Wait a minute...But why?"

"Mick, I have about two months to finish a novel that I don't even have complete creative control over. I don't think I have time for stuff like filling out your resumé." Donald explained with a sigh.

"Well, what's the good news?"

Donald smirked, and he started to regain his cool, "The good news, glad you asked! See, when I was going to meet back up with you after buying those plums. Daisy called. She wanted me to help out her friend and basically get her to fit in since she fucked up so much in her earlier years."

His roommate rose his eyebrow in confusion, "Alright, and what does that gotta do with me?"

"I told her I was busy writing the new novel, and gave the job to you instead. Remember what I said about you needing a girlfriend? Well, thank me. I just set you up for potential love! They want you to start tomorrow. Congrats, you fucking stud!"

"Woah, woah, woah, you did _what_? !"

"I don't feel like telling you again."

Mickey grabbed the plastic rail that separated his face from the panel that contained the car's airbag, trying to keep calm. But it was no use, "Why would you do something...Why would you do something so stupid? !"

"It's not so much as me being stupid than it is "me getting an excuse to get you out of the apartment for a few hours." " Donald replied with a smug look. Mickey scowled, not appreciating how his friend benefited from such torture.

"Wait a minute, what about that writing thing me and you were supposed to do together?" Mickey asked, recalling the promise they had made earlier that day. He had silently hoped that Donald's rush with the novel also cancelled those plans.

"Oh, we're still doing that! I can guarantee it. Otherwise, I would have mentioned it earlier. We're going to do it, and we're going to do it right, whether your grammar is good or not. Then and_ only _then, can you get disciplined for your misdeeds to the literary community."

"What? ! Come on, what about the novel? !"

Donald turned into the street that their apartment was located on, "I had enough time for tonight to keep one of our two plans up. I chose for you to write a draft.

Mickey blinked rapidly, "Now? As in, _right _now now?"

Donald mocked his nervous tone with open arms, "Now as in_ right _now? ! Oh, that would just be absurd! I really meant now as in _tomorrow-_ Of course I meant right now as in now!"

"Oh erm, what day _will _we look for a job?"

"Probably day after tomorrow." Donald dryly answered as he drove into the apartment complex.

* * *

In general, when it came to waiting, Mickey was horrible at it. He was impatient as he was expendable. And just like any flaw, this one particular thing about him had to be exploited. Exploited in the worst number of ways, in the worst amount of times possible. Not only did he had to endure waiting for the shower each and every morning, but coupled with waiting lines, waiting rooms, baking food, and the most infamous one, waiting for a message response, it was as if they existed to only make his life an unbearable living hell.

With that in mind, when Mickey exited the car, he hoped for once that time would actually take long.

Of course his wish wasn't granted, and the duo entered their apartment no more than two minutes afterwards. On the other hand, Donald however, no longer looked as calm and collected as he was in the car, and the small slip of paper in his hands did no benefit in explaining his newfound frustration.

"What is it now?" Mickey asked as he reluctantly went to search for the laptop they shared.

"New change of plans."

"New change of plans?"

"Yes, new change of plans. What are you, deaf?"

Mickey returned to the living room, laptop in tow, "Now what? What's with all the plan changing recently?"

Donald silently handed Mickey the slip of paper that he had in his hands, prompting him to read it to himself.

_"November 12th! For one day, and one day only, meet Geoff Farmer, author of "A Lecture in Hindsight" in public to sign copies of his book! No flash photography allowed, please."_

Mickey handed the paper back and sighed, "Where did you find that?"

Donald rolled his eyes and trashed the paper, he then took the laptop from Mickey and turned it on, "It was attached to the car. I just noticed it when we got out. Since I'm quite tired of his bullshit, and the company's bullshit. I've opted to do what must be done..."

Once the password screen came up on the monitor. Donald typed in the password (A password only _he _knew.) and casually handed it back to his friend, "Get started on the writing while I continue to rant."

Mickey silently nodded, and allowed Donald to go on.

"So I've decided to not work on the new book at all. Instead, ventilated to the absolute brim with jealousy, tomorrow I'm going to march up there after I drop you off at Daisy's. Once I meet him I'll give him a peace of my mind like I've wanted to do for years. With any luck, they'll be guards there, they'll notice me, beat the ever-living shit out of me. And I'll most likely get fired. From there, I can pursue a career in writing that doesn't have me tied to shackles.".

His plan clearly did not go unheard to Mickey, because he stopped typing on _Word_ just to acknowledge it, "Whatever happened to you saying that you can't quit because the money that they pay you to shut up pays the rent?"

"Once you get a job, you can do that easily. You won't have to rely on me anymore! Remember, it's never too late to sell a fresh mocha!" he completed his teasing remark with a wink and a snap of his finger.

'I'm not working at Starbucks." Mickey declared as he continued tapping away on the keyboard. Not even sure about the incoherent mess he was producing (A better substitute being "pulling".) out of his ass.

"I know, but honestly. I have a hunch I can get hired by another company, if I do this before publicity gets to me. Then we'll be right back on track..."

"I don't think you're looking at this from a realistic point of view." Mickey admitted while he checked for errors in his work. He figured that Donald wasn't in the mood to be reading something extremely long. So he came up with a short prompt instead.

By now, Donald himself had shut off Mickey. Instead focusing all attention at the current situation at hand.

For starters, he had recently gained orders to write another novel and publish it under Geoff's name. Except this, the concept was no longer under his control. To add insult to injury, he wasn't even sure he could last through another guilt trip of having to deal with being in the man's always looming shadow.

So, fueled by frustration. He could easily march to the book signing to confront him for his actions. However, if he did that; and if in turn, that became viral. He could risk losing his job just because he let out the company's biggest secret.

If that came into fruition, no other company would probably want to hire him, leaving him one of the jobless maroons that he had so heartlessly called out his friend for just the other day.

With all things considered, the climax of the situation, should it diverge into that route; would ultimately have one end result. A result that Donald made evident mere minutes ago.

Mickey would be the sole provider for the apartment's rent. Ergo, that would make him the big man on campus.

Donald shook his head, that was a title he did not wish to doff.

He scratched his chin, his thoughts starting to conflict with each other. Granted, Mickey was known for his social abilities. He seemed outgoing most times, though this was only put into focus when he was around people he knew. With new people, it was all a blur.

With that in check, there could be a slight possibility that Mickey wouldn't be able to garner enough pay to pay off the rent. Which took away his own possibility at feeling all high and mighty.

It was then that Donald realized that this was just a battle he could not win, and that contemplating this convoluted conundrum was only furthering the damage of his brain cells.

All this, just because he despised some low life who stole his credit on numerous occasions.

Overall. In the end, Donald was left with two possible outcomes. On one hand, he would lose his job and Mickey would have to keep paying off the rent by himself. Which as he judged by his self-entitled behavior, would cause him to become power hungry. Not something the man looked forward to seeing in his friend.

On the other, he would still lose his job, (He briefly pondered if there was any scenario that involved him keeping it.) and Mickey would _try _to pay off the rent. But he wouldn't make enough because, he's_ fucking_ Mickey Iwan for one. Which would ultimately piss the landlord off, and he'd probably seal both of the men's fate by decapitating them in a forest shack, some fifty miles from their complex.

That is, unless the abnormal artificial preservatives and vitamins stored in his body thanks to poor food choices didn't poison him and decompose his body from the inside first.

Donald rolled his eyes in a jokingly manner, that was just another fantasy that wouldn't come true.

These options alone we're only possible if Donald was going to the book signing anyway. He could naturally, just move on with life like any other person, stuck in his room night by night, writing novels until three in the morning. Then he would wake up at seven and just repeat the process.

"_But there's no fun in that. Besides, it's a one-time chance opportunity, I shouldn't pass it up._"

He snapped back to reality. Mickey was organizing what Donald could only assume was his draft, "So now that you got that printed out, are you going to show me it or what?"

"Oooh, I was hoping you'd say that!" Mickey chirped as he handed the rough draft to him.

Donald skimmed over the title, fearing for the worst, "_Doug the Abstinent Rat_"

He had to re-read the title in order to make sure what he wasn't dreaming.

"Are you serious?"

"As long as you are."

Donald skipped down to the first paragraph, dreading what was to come.

"_Doug was a rat who was always profound in the eyes of the lord. He would go to church everyday and pray because he just liked doing that. He had a girlfriend, although he did not have sex with her because he was abstinent and she respected him for it. Every night they cuddled together and watched bad movies. Doug also had a penis infection, but that's irrelevant. The End._"

Donald cringed slightly as he finished reading, he looked up at Mickey, then back at the draft, "Erm...Alright...It's better than your last one...But it's lacking conflict. Children won't learn anything when they read this."

"They'll learn that church is a fun place to go to!" Mickey insisted, but Donald shook his head.

"No, no, I don't think that's a fact that today's generation of children are willing to accept."

Mickey took the draft back and looked over it himself, "So...Out of a scale from one to ten, what would you rate it? One being like, "Oh my god, this shit sucks!" and ten being like, "Hey bro that story isn't that half-bad!"

"Three, easily. I would have given it a four but today isn't a good day for me." Donald got up from the couch and proceeded to walk to the bathroom, but Mickey's voice called out to him before he could get too far.

"So what are we going to do now? !"

"You mean what are _you _going to do! I'm going to take a shower and reflect on my life's actions before planning the book signing "boycott", as for you!...Write a better draft and give it to me when I get out!" he called from the hallway.

"Alrighty! Say, while we're at it. Do you want some _hot pockets _I bought from the farmer's market? We can eat them while we spend the night watching bad movies on pay-per-view!"

"Hot pockets? You bought _hot pockets _at the _farmer's market! ?_" Donald shouted, his tone sounding confused.

"Yeah, what's so bad about that?"

"What kind of person sells hot pockets at a farmer's market? !"

"Someone that apparently doesn't understand the point of a farmer's market! So do you want any or not? They're pepperoni flavored!"

Donald bit his bottom lip, that didn't sound like a bad idea now that he thought about it.

"Put six in the microwave!" he succumbed without putting up much of a fight.

Presuming that their conversation was over, Donald headed to the bathroom in order to get a much needed wash. But he found himself hearing Mickey again as he was mere inches away from the door.

"Oh yeah! One last thing, Don!"

"Ugh, what? !"

"What's the name of that friend of Daisy's I'm supposed to "court" and "serenade" tomorrow? ! Is it a hot name?" asked Mickey.

Donald was never good with names, so whenever he was asked to recall a name on the spot, he took a while. He mouthed a few inaudible curses as he searched through his memory.

"It's uh...um, fuck. Shit, I had it! Give me a second!"

"I'm giving you plenty!" Mickey responded, somewhat annoyed.

Donald snapped his fingers consistently, chiding himself for forgetting a name he learned only mere hours ago. When the name finally came to him, he snapped his fingers one final time, "Got it!"

"Great, stop giving yourself pride and tell me!"

"Her name is Minnie, you ungrateful swine!" Donald shouted, cursing both Mickey and his memory before slamming the bathroom door.

Mickey was left to sink into the motherly arms of the worn-out couch, "Minnie, huh? Sounds kinky. Combine that with a few hot pockets, some movies by _Video Brinquedo_, and I'd say this might be the best weekend in a while!" he declared to himself before heading to the kitchen. **[1]**

* * *

**Hmm, looks like some plans have changed! Donald shows off his more rebellious side while Mickey seems to be adapting well to the thought of romance. **

**Date I Began Writing This Chapter: June 25th, 2012.**

**Date I Finished: June 30th, 2012.**

**[1]: Video Brinquedo is a Brazillian children's studio that produces _extremely _bad movies that are rip-offs of Diseny and Dreamworks films. **

**The next chapter will have Donald and Goofy meet each-other in full. **_**Please**_** read and review! See ya next time guys!**


	4. Process Optimization

**Chapter four, time to score! Alright, that's enough rhymes for about five or six chapters. Let's go straight to our reviews!**

**Mighty: Thank you for reviewing! Yeah, the plot is thickening, but we're not even close to the climax yet, schtick is **_**really **_**going to go down later on. **

**Guest: Yeah, it should be! Their conflicting characteristics make for some interesting scenes I have planned. And yeah, I suppose it is a shame. I thought dramedies were popular around here? Haha, maybe you should message a few of your friends to read? ^^" I dunno, but if you feel like getting the word around, then please, go right ahead, I don't mind either way!**

**Today's chapter continues Don and Mick's plan from the last chapter. Mickey must now spend a day with Daisy and Minnie, while Don prepares to confront Geoff at a book signing in a poor man's attempt to get himself fired. I'm going to hold off another one of "Mickey's Obnoxious Stories" until the next few or so chapters, give that gag a break before it kills itself. **

**Oh yeah, and I apologize greatly if you've been sent misleading Story Alerts that this story has been updated. Most of the time it's me just bumping the story to the front page. (Yeah, I do that, sue me.)**

**Finally, I'm going on vacation a while, I may or may not be able to sneak the laptop on board, if I don't, please don't fret if an update doesn't arrive for a while. That's why I'm updating it tonight! Anywho, let's get started :)! **

**Word Count: 5125 words.**

* * *

Process Optimization

Alternative Title: A Simply Simple Spark to Spark A Simple Conversation of Absolute Simplicity 

_Process optimization is the discipline of adjusting a process so as to optimize some specified set of parameters without violating some constraint. _

Donald snapped open like a robot at the buzzing of the alarm clock. His fist already colliding with it like some otherwordly creature. Which by Mickey's low and suspicious standards and reasons, he probably was.

Donald himself would have liked to believe that he was some sort of cyborg, judging from his rare probability of ever falling into insomnia during writing time. A time that Donald labeled as, "Development Hell".

Of course, the reason for that was completely the opposite of what someone would think.

With the alarm clock murdered to a bloody pulp for the three-hundred and sixteenth time that year, Donald was ready to begin the day anew. Even though he was pretty sure that shit was going to go down today, it was nice to know that at least his morning would have started out on the right foot.

So he made his way to the kitchen with low expectations for the future events of that day, noticeable slouch in his walk included.

"Hey." Donald muttered as he heard footsteps, clearly Mickey on his daily morning routes again. Most of them not natural.

"Hey! Movie night last night was great, wasn't it?"

"I guess. Would have been better with more hot pockets..." Donald replied, more or less mumbling the last few words due to his reluctantness to admit it.

"I had to save 'em. How else are we going to celebrateThanksgiving?"

Donald stared at him as if he was the stupidest person in the world, which judging by Donald's standards, he probably was, "You're implying that you want to celebrate Thanksgiving over hot pockets?"

"Is it a bad idea?"

Donald let out a string of laughs, unusual for him but he did it regardless. He rolled his eyes and placed a pastry in the toaster, "Course it's not. Shit's fucking brilliant."

It was then silent for a few seconds. As much as Donald loved it when his roommate wasn't yapping his fucking ass off, he did enjoy a little conversation in the morning. After all, they were supposed to be best friends. It was natural that eventually he'd want to have a slice-of-life social interaction every now and then.

He knew Mickey was touchy about certain subjects though. It was there that he discovered Mickey's biggest pet peeve, _defending _minimal shit that he either liked or was neutral to. Breakfast items included.

"Why are you making _Nutella?_" he asked.

Mickey clicked his tongue, continuing to spread the chocolatey substance over his bread slice, "It's good. What do you have against it?"

Donald sticked a thumb into the jar. Pulling it out, he sticked it into his mouth and smiled, "I dunno. Just seems like a sort of _hipster_ food. Don't you think? Like all the people who eat it think they're special because they think only _they_ and they _alone _eat it. It's asinine."

"Are you really going to get on me just for something so trivial as this? It's fucking Nutella for crying out loud!"

"And it's overrated. Whatever happened to good old fashioned peanut butter?"

"Recent reports state that peanut butter gives you cancer." Mickey jokingly retorted, joining the two slices of bread together to make a small meal.

"Nutella also has much more fat than peanut butter, which is why it comes in smaller cartons, but America still eats it." Donald argued, while his tone was similar to Mickey's. His statement wasn't.

Mickey looked down at the Nutella, "No regrets."

Donald retrieved his pastry once it was done, that and a cup of coffee would be his meal of the day.

"So, are you ready? Today's the big day!" Donald elbowed Mickey lightly, a suave smirk on his face.

"I could say the same to you."

"You could, but you aren't. That's the amazing thing about our-" Donald paused to take a long, "pride" slurp from his coffee cup, "-dynamic!"

"What? That I'm the fun guy and you're the cynical snarker? Yeah, people find that amusing. _So _amusing, you can't tell, but I'm laughing-" Mickey too paused to take a bite out of his artificial chocolate paste, "-right now."

"You should learn how to stop speaking when your mouth is full. It's part of the reason I lock you in your room when Daisy-" cue another purposely long slurp, "-comes over."

"I can change whenever I want to!"

"You see, out of context. It actually sounds like you're trying to _mean _something." Donald pointed out with another smirk.

"Huh?"

Donald shook his head and grabbed the car keys, "Whatever. Just finish eating your_ diabetes _and get in the car, I'm driving you to Daisy's, then I'm hitting it to downtown for that inane book signing."

Mickey grabbed his unnaturally long sideburns and pulled them downward, a habit of his. He did it whenever he was foiled.

"I'll give you diabetes when I'm through with you!"

He could hear Donald laugh and fight back with a witty reply of his own.

"Really? The only way I think you know how to give me that is the _one _way I _don't _want you to use on me."

Mickey was left to finish his sweet brown lard in silence.

* * *

Geoff strolled down the hallways of the building, his sights set on the clerk who worked in the lobby. It wasn't like the two had a thing or anything, it was just that he found her nothing short of delicious.

Sure, her hair was up most of the time. In those two insignificant pigtails. But perhaps that was for the best, it showed off more her seemingly flawless skin.

For all he knew, he could have just been a biased drone, and he probably was; his mindset revolved entirely around it, so it seemed plausible enough.

So when he saw her working on her paperwork, he wasn't entirely sure if he had the guts to go up and talk to her. Even if his excuse was as "important" as it supposedly appeared to be.

Risking all odds, he walked up to her as casual as can be.

"Oh, hello Mr. Farmer!" she opened with a bubbly smile, the kind that always got to him, "How are you today?"

"I'm feeling great, Clara! And please, call me Geoff. I don't really mind, heh!" he ran a hand through his hair, showing off a smile of his own.

"Well alrighty then, Geoff! Is there anything I can do for an esteemed writer like you?"

Geoff turned around and leaned on the desk, keeping himself elevated by placing both his hands flat on it, "If it's not too much, I was wondering...Could you maybe, cancel the limosine ride I have to the bookstore?"

"Of course! But, um, why? If I'm allowed to ask, that is!"

"No, no, it's fine. I was just feeling like walking together. I'll put on some shades, don't worry about me."

Before the Clara could respond, Geoff clicked his tongue and turned his hands into finger pistols. Apparently, "playing it cool" helps make one look like less of a nerd in front of people they admire.

* * *

"Alright, rule one. Don't drop the spagehtti. That's the most important part." Donald advised while he drove the car up to Daisy's parking lot. Mickey cocked an eyebrow, not at all following his logic.

"That's gotta be a euphemism, I don't know _what _the hell you're talking about." Mickey muttered, sinking into his seat, causing Donald to question where his collective mind from earlier had run off to.

"Just don't drop the spaghetti. You'll thank me later. Knowing this and this alone will help you get the gals. It'll help you a lot, considering that girls are all over hipsters nowadays!"

Mickey just sank even deeper into his seat, unaware that Daisy was walking up to the car, accompanied by another girl.

"Also, take the goddamn earmuffs off. I'm surprised you can even hear with those pubes on!" Donald smacked Mickey, but it did little to change his mind about his appearance.

Daisy couldn't have been more unfortunate with the timing she had. She carelessly poked her head through the passenger window, "Hmm. I thought I'd find two shiggity rascals in here. Turns out I was right after all!"

"Oh you be quiet. I'm here to dump _Hipster McBucks_ for a playdate, I'm inclined to believe you'll be chaperoning." Donald teased with a wink.

"For the most part, _no. _I'm just going to send them on a simple walk throughout town and see if Mick can set her straight.- Speaking of which... Why's he on the ground?"

Donald moved his pupils over to where Daisy pointed, Mickey was huddling himself on the car's plastic carpet.

"Is that necessary?" Donald asked. When he got no response, he nudged him. Fuck, he didn't even step out the goddamn car yet and he was already spilling his spaghetti.

Mickey got uncurled and sat on his chair, shaking like it was no one's business. Donald for one, was shocked, no more than two minutes ago he was acting like a big shot who got vadge every other day of the week on multiple occasions. Now he was acting like a spine-less freshman on the first day.

"Ugh, hold up. I got it." Donald put his hand up, stopping Daisy from doing any further actions. He then opened Mickey's door, and promptly shoved him out, more or less bringing him back to Earth.

"Ow!" Mickey whined. He stood up and scratched his head while Daisy walked to Donald's side of the car.

"I guess I'll be off then, I got shit to wreck and balls to bust."

Daisy rolled her eyes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, "If anyone's going to be busted, it's going to be you. Be careful, okay?"

"When was the last time I wasn't careful?" Donald asked a rhetorical question. A _stupid _rhetorical question.

Knowing that Daisy wasn't going to answer him, he pulled out and drove off. Leaving a gawking Mickey alone without any male companionship.

Daisy clasped her hands together, "Our plan is ready to come in action! So let's start this off with some greetings, huh? ! Minnie, this is Mickey Iwan, Mick, meet Minnie Taylor!"

Mickey was speechless though. For the girl that stood before him was no ordinary girl. This girl defied each and every single thing he had in store just last night when all he knew about her was her name.

Now that she stood there in front of him. Mickey was tempted to just knee down and pray for how god damn lucky he was. He _really _fucking scored. He made a mental note to thank Donald for his douchebag attitude later.

Minnie however, was indifferent in regards to him. Looks weren't everything, at least in her opinion. Sure, he looked appealing, but she concluded that that wasn't enough for the two to really click.

"Seems the looks in your eyes have registered each other without using words! Right, well. My chaperoning's over, take a walk around town and come back to me in a few hours, I'm out!" Daisy shoved the two forward from her yard to the sidewalk. Before either of them could even register what she was doing, she had locked herself inside her home.

"W-wait, what? !" Mickey finally said, eyes blinking frantically. He turned to Minnie, who was shocked too, just not to his verbal extent.

The two were left alone, and it felt like hours, but any sane man knew it was just a few minutes before either of them would speak.

Mickey knew he shouldn't be staring, but he couldn't help it. He absolutely _adored _the way her hair encased her face, the way that small tuft of hair made her bangs look longer, not to mention that the streak of red was also a nice touch. But the biggest one, the one he couldn't help but obsess over; was her fucking bow.

Her _fucking _bow, of all things.

She wore a bow. A _fucking _bow. Like she was a freaking pish-posh five year old or something, all dressed up and somewhere to go. It was a simple, big white one with no notable design. But it served it's purpose nonetheless, and that was to impress, and it did that fucking job with grace. It topped her off like she was a freaking Christmas present, like as if that one bow was that _final _star on the tree required to complete it.

Mickey was starting to question his possibility of having a bow fetish.

He was the first to open up, as he noticed that Minnie looked a little shy. She hadn't even greeted him yet, Mickey hoped she was a silent type, and not just a girl who found him so retarded that she went mute because of it.

So he tried booting a conversation with a joke.

"Um...Is it weird if I have a bloated sausage right now?" he asked, Minnie instantly gasped in his direction.

Nothing amount of relationship advice would ever prepare Mickey for the painful slap he received.

"_Huh...Guess she's not into dick jokes..._"

* * *

Donald stepped out his car. Now in the parking lot of the bookstore. He immediately sighed.

There was a line, obviously. But it wasn't just any line. This was the sort of line that just _had _to wrap itself _around_ the store itself and then _wrap _itself around another two stores before finally showing off the entry.

Admittedly, perhaps that was an over-exaggeration. But the point still stood. That line was long as fuck.

"Fuck... Didn't know people really liked to read my shit..." he mumbled to himself.

Acting as casual as he could, he entered the line. He didn't care if he stood in that line for hours, not even days, he was _borderline _debatable on weeks though. After all, who was going to keep giving Mickey his daily reality checks?

Donald sighed, "_Already bored. Fucking hell._" he thought. He looked around, looking for anyone gullible to want to talk to him.

Fortunately, he found someone in the form of the gentlemen standing in front of him.

"So that Geoff Farmer, huh? Pr_ett_y nice guy, right?" Donald asked, nabbing the attention of the pedestrian in front of him.

"Oh! I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" Donald nodded, prompting the man to continue, "My apologies! Name's Horace, Horace _Farmer!_"

Donald blinked. Almost taken by surprise, "Horace _Farmer? _You mean to imply that-"

"Yup! I'm Geoff's brother! I'm here to surprise 'em with a family visit. I assume your a fan of his work, right?"

Donald wanted to do nothing but cringe. Cringe more times than he could count. Not only was this guy in the dark about what really went on behind the doors of that malicious company, but he actually seemed _convinced _that Geoff wrote the book. He pleaded the fifth though, since he himself only ever saw Geoff's face a few times before today, but he did know that no man who looked as _goofy _as that deserved such credbility for pretending to have written a literary masterpiece.

Donald blinked again, briefly questioning whether or not this was fucking "National Blink Day" or some shit. Snarky comment aside. Did he really jut call his work a literary masterpiece?

He couldn't have stooped _that _low, could he?

"I suppose you could say that. I'm really here so I can _meet _him."

Horace scratched his head, not quite getting the gist, "Erm... Isn't everyone here going to meet him?"

"I meant meet _meet _him." Donald clarified, and Horace nodded to confirm his understanding.

To Donald's suprise, Horace stepped out of line and offered his space for him.

"Oh! In that case,please, take my spot!

Donald cocked an eyebrow, "_Does__** everyone **__in the their freaking family tree have some sort of brain disease that affected their number of brain cells?_" he thought.

"Erm, really? I mean, you're his brother, it's on natural that you...uh-Go in front.-" Donald started but he was cut off by Horace, who left the line, allowing his spot to be taken.

"Nonsense! I'm his brother, I'm sure the guards would just accept me in to see him after I prove that we're related, see ya!" with that, Horace left. Donald didn't question any of it at first, until it hit him.

"Wait a minute, if you were related to Geoff, why did you even bother standing in the line in the first place?" Donald mumbled to himself. He inspected the line afterwards, it seemed that conversation with Horace had unknowingly moved Donald up a lot.

"Wow, is he literally doing nothing but _signing _books? Fuck, you'd at least be nice enough to hold a short conversation maybe. Mean, that's what I would do..."

Donald felt his phone vibrate, so he retrieved it from it's place in his pocket. He had a good hunch on who it was already, so he pressed the talk button and placed the phone to his ear.

"No, I _don't _want a copy of _Lots and Lots of Jets and Planes_, please stop calling here."

"N-no, wait, Don I'm not a telemarketer!"

Good hunches are never always right though.

Donald furrowed his brow, "Mick? What the fuck are you doing calling me at..." Donald paused to briefly check the time on his phone, "- Twelve twenty-seven AM? ! I'm busy waiting in line!"

"I need your help!"

"You already _got _my help. Your problem now is that you refuse to acknowledge and remember the help I gave you." Donald bluntly said. He was about to hang up, but Mickey's squealy squeakity as fuck voice rang in at just the right time.

"_To hell with your timing..._" Donald thought, he grunted and kept the phone at his ear. Granted, he could probably use this time to kill time while waiting in the line.

"No, no, I need more help! I need real help! Like super real help!"

"Isn't that the exact same "class" of help I gave you last time?" Donald teasingly asked, if not just to hold up the conversation longer.

"Just help me. Just freaking help me. I don't care what the hell you tell me, what the hell you do, just tell me, how to get it on and bone this silent sexy man-magnet!" Mickey demanded through the phone, he sounded extremely nervous.

"Alright. Calm your butthurt tits. What's the spaghetti status?"

"You know it's been dropped."

"Well! There's not really so much I can do now now that the spaghetti has left the building! Where are you anyway?"

What Mickey said next genuinely surprised him, "Walking with her around town because Daisy forced us to."

"Wait, wait, wait. So, Minnie's right there. As in. Right there, next to you. Walking with you. Where she is clearly allowed to and at any point just infiltrate into the conversation by overhearing it?"

"When you make it sound like that I sound like a stupid retard."

Donald raged into the phone, his whispers hitting their volume climax, "You _are _a retard! You could potentially shove, destroy, rape, and even necrophilic rape any feelings she has towards you by just letting her listen to our talks!"

"Don't worry, speaker mode is off, we're fine!"

"How do you know she isn't just a superhuman with great hearing quality?"

"Don, if there's anything "super" about this chick, the only place I'd like to find out is in the bed."

"That was terrible!"

"Really? I found it to be in good taste."

Donald sighed, "Very few women are into such tasteless, sexual jokes. Goddamn, I've never seen someone so horrible at trying to plow a woman, congrats, you get the _Beta of the Year award!_"

"Not funny! If you think you're so great, then how did y_ou_ get Daisy under your wing?"

"I grew a pair, told myself fuck it, wanted her ass, asked if I could plow said ass, _bam _I have a girlfriend. Skip a year, and here we are now." Donald explained with a smug smirk, unaware of the denizens around him that were giving him the oddest of looks.

"It was _that _easy?" Mickey asked, "I don't remember it being that simple."

"Course you don't. You were stupid then and you were stupid now.

"That's not very nice..." Mickey glumly muttered.

"Mick, I can list just about a hundred things about the world that are "not nice" and about a million reasons why life in itself is "not nice". But I can only take so much of your presence before I crack under my sanity, so instead I'm going to tell you how to get under her wing."

Mickey scratched his head, he looked over to his side and saw Minnie doing nothing but walking and staring at the sidewalk ahead of her.

He stopped staring, "I don't think she has wings."

Donald couldn't be happier about the fact that he knew this guy.

"Brilliant! 'Cause then she'd be a freak of nature and we'd have to kill her! It's the only efficient way to preserve the lives of the elderly. They're prone to being used as food for winged creatures, y'know?"

"Really? !" Mickey gasped, and Donald could only imagine the look on his face.

"No. I just lied to you and I'm not sure why. Hahah- No. What you need to do is simply spark a simple conversation of absolute simplicity! Why not talk to her about what music she likes? Women _love _music, and if you wanna be a cheapskate; then do this, when she says what her favorite band is, say that it's your favorite band too! It'll hook her because you share an interest with her. Do this often with many subjects, but not too many, because you still need something to argue with her about, and that requires a different opinion in at least one subject. Like, um. Do you think gays should get married?" Donald explained, he was quite satisfied with himself. Thanks to spending so much time with the bumbling buffoon on the phone, he was almost nearly at the bookstore's entrance.

"_Oh joy._" he thought.

It would be seconds until Mickey's response came to his ears, "Um...Okay..I'll try!"

"For my sake, I hope so. Are we just about done here?"

"What? Don's too busy to talk to me? Is that how it is? !"

"No, I'm waiting in line in the fucking mild cold just to tell my mortal enemy to fuck the fucking fuck fuck off. You know I met his brother earlier?"

Mickey's mouth turned into a small "O", "Oh really? Who was he? What was he like?" Donald sighed at the bombardment of questions. He should be lucky he even knew the guy's name.

"I learned only two things from that guy. That his name was Horace Farmer and that his similarity to Geoff makes me question whether or not their parents were related, y'know, like _before _they were married."

Mickey pouted, "My, that's very stereotypical of you! Just because their surname is Farmer doesn't mean they came from Texas. I'm pretty sure their hometown is actually a city somewhere not too far from here."

"Excellent observation, Watson. Please, tell me how you came to that conclusion..."

"Oh, easy Shitlock! I read the _About the Author _section in that copy of _Hindsight _you gave me. His author's photo isn't that bad, much better than you could ever do had you have had the oppportunity."

"_He actually reads those things?_" Donald thought. He knew this conversation was eventually going to dissolve in the two hating on the Farmers, so he decided to end it. Besides, he was right at the bookstore's entrance now, "Right. While that's all fun and noise, I gotta get going. See you, I dunno, later tonight when we get back from our respective shitfests."

Donald ended the call with a click. On Mickey's end, he also hung up and turned his head to Minnie. She was still quiet and unresponsive.

"_Second time's a charm, right?_"

"So, um. Like any music?"

Mickey took note of how she slightly tensed up before answering.

* * *

By the time Donald was only two people from Geoff. He was exhausted. He had experienced nearly every single suffering thing he ever could have had the misfortune to have to go through. For one, the second he entered the establishment, he was frisked of anything that could even be remotely utilized as a weapon. To make matters worse, this search was performed by two of the worst, if not _the _worst candidates for the job.

Two small midgets.

Two fucking small midgets, climbing around his clothes, looking for anything inappropriate.

Try to imagine that.

So after that publicly-approved sexual harrassment session, Donald was inside the store, and he had clear view of Geoff.

And you know, if it hadn't been for the woman and her crying baby, he might have been able to get a clear reading on what he was saying too.

Yup.

Misfortune number two of the goddamn book signing. There was a woman, now that wasn't the problem. The problem was that there was lack of babysitters in the world, apparently. Or at least that was what this woman thought. For this woman, this particular woman, thought it was a good idea to bring her fucking baby. Her _fucking _baby. To what might as well have been a twenty-three hour line just to go to hell and back.

Now Donald wasn't completely agasint the poor children. Half the time they were cute, but more often than not they were sickly, pudgy, annoying bags of tubby fat with faces.

So what did this one baby decide to do to her mother while the two are standing in a mildly chilly line?

It decided to cry.

It doesn't decide to take a shit. It doesn't decide that it wants to eat. It doesn't decide that it wants to drink either. It wanted to cry. Of all things the fucker decided to do it wanted to cry.

After suffering twenty minutes of constant bawling, Donald was just about ready to cry too.

"_Why?_" "_Why?_" he constantly asked himself. Out of all the things babies could do, it had to fucking cry. Not go to sleep. The one thing it should be doing during the afternoon. No, it had to cry.

That wasn't all though. Then there was the guy who decided that he could rob a bookstore with just a spray bottle with what appeared to be _Sprite._

He was quickly apprehended by the midgets, "_Chip and Dale, was it?_" and taken away to the authorities. The book signing continued as normal, despite the fact that hostage lives _could _have been at stake.

Emphasis on _could. _Remember, he robbed the fucking place with a spray bottle.

So after all that, Donald was just about ready to fall. He was convinced that his fans were nothing but crazed lunatics who thought he was some _deep_ intellectual and followed him because of it.

Another reminder. He was three seconds of crying away from shouting at the top of his lungs at a one and a half year.

"Thank god for _Trojan_..." Donald mumbled.

Fortunately the two idiots in front of him decided to be smart and not waste his time any further. He was finally at Geoff, and it was finally time for shit to go down.

Donald slammed his copy of _Hindsight _on Geoff's table, which surprised him quite a bit, but he didn't take it as any offense. The man smiled, opened the book, and turned to the page that hid just behind the cover.

"Thanks for coming, friend! Now who do I make this out to?" Geoff chirped with a grin. Donald was apalled by it, but applauded his acting skills nonetheless. As he knew that no one could sit there for about two or three hours, (However long this shit signing was.) and fake a smile for just about every fucker that decided to show up and not get bored by person number sixty-nine.

"Make it out to my fists, _Patches _and _Stitches_." he said in a monotone voice.

"Righty then! _To my best pal fists, Patches and Stitche-_" and that's when all hell broke loose. Not that it wasn't already loose already from the fucking baby and _Bottles the Crack-Ass Criminal_. Before Geoff could even finish saying what he was writing down as he wrote it, he was punched. Punched by Donald in the face as hard as he could muster. He had been waiting hours, and to an extent, his entire young adult life, just to give that man a big wallop in his fucking smiling face.

Geoff immediately fell to his back, and Donald took this time to jump up onto his table before the shocked crowd could react in a negative wait, "Attention gluttonous neckbeards and widowed cuties! Geoff Farmer is a fraud! A big, fat fraud! I'm a ghostwriter hired to write his stories while he poses for the author's information in the actual book! It's all a scam, a scam to get you intrigued by his fake "life" so you'll be interested in buying his books!"

When the crowd didn't react, he knew he had to go to drastic measures.

"He makes what I make in a year in the span of a month!"

He was then taken by surprise. Chip and Dale both tackled him to the ground, quickly tying him up, "Wait, no! I'm not finished yet! He's a fraud! Tell everyone you know, tell the internet! Those stories are mine, _mine! _I'm not even paid to write them, they pay me just to not _tell _anyone that I write them! Geoff's a fraud! I created Sora, I created Kairi, I created Riku, I created everything in that story!- Get the fuck off of me!"

"I wrote _Hindsight!_ Believe me, I'll prove it to you all!" Donald shouted, and it seemed like the crowd was starting to believe him too. But Chip and Dale quickly grabbed a hold of him and were walking towards the bookstore's exit.

"You're comin'-" Chip started.

"With us,-" Dale continued for him.

"buster!" they both exclaimed.

As soon as Donald was taken out, Dale left his side to go and get Geoff, who was taken away in a similar manner. All he could do as his beloved fans watched him get taken away was shrug like an innocent man.

And in some ways, he was. In others, he was just about the same level of prisoner as Donald was.

Chip and Dale took them away, as the rest of the crowd could only watch in suspense with a hint of horror.

"Aw fuck..."

* * *

**Fourth chapters done! Mick and Minnie are starting it off with a rickety start while Don and Geoff are...also there. Tune in next time to find out how this all goes down! Also, Mick and Don's "spaghetti" protocol is their way of labeling relationship levels, ala "First base, second base". "Dropping the spaghetti" means that you fucked up.**

**Date I began writing this chapter: July 3rd, 2012.**

**Date I finsihed writing this chapter: July 4th, 2012.**

**Happy fourth everyone! And please read and review! c: Or tell some of your friends to read and maybe they'll review and tell their friends! Haha, nah, that's just a dream. ^^"**


	5. Twinaxial Cable

**Fifth chapter! My vacation is over and I'm ready to write again! Now we'll get to see the aftermath of Donald's mischief at the bookstore and the events that follow. **

**Formerly Chilltown: Thanks for reviewing! Yeah, I think of the most raunchiest stuff to insert in as dialogue. This story might even beat one of my others for most amount of swears so far. Probably not though, considering that's like in chapter twenty or something.**

**Once again, please spread the word about this story or something! I'd like to see a few more reviews ^^" They're always appreciated!**

**Word Count: 3020 words.**

* * *

Twinaxial Cable

Alternative Title: The Man With Two Eye Patches

_A Twinaxial Cable is a transmission line made up of a twisted pair of insulated conductors centered inside and insulated from a conductive shield._

Donald quietly ate his cereal, his teeth constantly switching between munching the actual cereal and chewing the marshmallows. It was a new day, and Donald was intent on letting nothing get to him. The past was in the past, a new day was dawning, and like most days for just about anybody, it began with breakfast in solitude.

Mickey couldn't help but stare at Donald as he ate. He knew it was rude, but to be frank, they were the only two people in the room, that aside, Donald's eyewear wasn't doing anything to help either.

Sunglasses. Black sunglasses, to be exact.

Yeah, Donald wore fucking sunglasses to the dining table.

It appeared as if the white-haired menace had substituted his normal glasses for a big pair of black ones. Under normal circumstances, this would have been only the slightest bit irritable, but it wasn't enough that he wore sunglasses _inside,_ or that the sunglasses were black, or that he even wore them _period._ It was their size.

It was a fucking media-exploited "Jumbo" size.

Donald briefly glanced at Mickey, and returned to his meal shortly after. Mickey cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. The silence had overstayed it's welcome far too long for his own comfort.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Donald looked up from his cereal. Mickey had just called him out.

"What?"

"The sunglasses. It's fall. _Fall._"

"This, coming from the guy who wears earmuffs one season too early." retorted Donald as he fixed his eyes back on the cereal.

"I'm just saying. You're not acting like yourself today, in fact, ever since that booksigning, you haven't been acting like yourself at all. You're all quiet...and not cynical...and wearing _sunglasses!"_

"Congrats, Cap'n Obvious. Do you want the prize up front or pick-up?"

When Mickey didn't respond, Donald went on.

"That aside. I can say the same to you. Ever since that social with Minnie, you haven't been acting yourself either_. Little Miss Quiet Perfect-No Flaw _get to you already?"

Mickey scowled, flicking Donald in the forehead, "She's just shy around new people, that's all. Why do you feel the need to find laws in her? Are you jealous? !" Mickey suggested, coyly cocked eyebrow included.

Donald clicked his tongue, "Fuck no. Did you see her clothing and hair? Covered her entire face, two out of ten, wouldn't even one-night stand her. She just screams hipster- Actually, wait! On second thought, that clearly fits your overdone archetype. Please go ahead and piledrive her, I can honestly care less."

"Really? Whatever happened to you trying to get me laid?"

"I've moved on. I'm more focused on you getting that job now. Which we're going to do today. . . After my, erm. Thing."

"Thing?"

"Thing!"

"What thing? !"

"Some. Thing. That's all you need to know.

Mickey realized he was getting nowhere with the conversation, so he stood up, and in a blink of an eye, stole Donald's sunglasses. He couldn't have been less prepared for the sight on the man's face.

"Holy mother of tits! When did you get a black eye? ! Shit, it looks like some grape that overdosed on the 'roids!"

Donald stared back at his cereal, "Alright, you fucking faggot! You caught me. I have to go to the publisher to receive my penalty for "harrassing a fellow co-worker" and so does Geoff. Not immediate fire. Which is why I'm quite disappointed today..."

From Mickey's point of view, it looked like he was actually talking to the cereal like some inane madman, "It's funny how I ask about your black eye, and instead you tell me everything _but _why you got the black eye! Where were the police when this was happening, why aren't you going to court for that? !"

"Better question. Why do you care? Just yesterday you didn't bat an eyelash, now you want me to go to court for something so low-level as punching a farce author."

Mickey sat back down, "Frankly I consider it the lowest of the low. I didn't think you were actually going to go through with it, wasn't the line supposed to be as long as fuck? !"

"Lots of shit went down and I managed to get to him before the signing ended. Punched him square in his faggot ass face, those midget assistants of his kicked my ass, also took us away. The police arrived, beat our asses _again_. And the two midgets didn't press charges and told the cops that they would take care of it themselves; did you know they both speak one after the other?" Donald explained the situation as he ate another spoonful.

"The fact that the police didn't consider jailing your ass now has me concerned. I'll never be able to comprehend how you got out scott-free."

"It's not so much scott-free when you're going to go "receive" a punishment from your employer for it."

Mickey applied a palm to his forehead, "Wasn't this your fucking plan?"

"It was. Until I realized that I may or may not be receiving the pink slip for this." Donald replied as he took yet another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"Good job, you fucking stupid idiot! You've outdone even yourself this time, and you have no one to blame for any consequences you get but yourself! Now tell me, the black eye, how'd you get it? Did Geoff send a suckerpunch right back?"

Donald toyed around with the spoon, using it to create endless waves in the pool of milk before him. He seemingly diverted the conversation into a different direction, "I now have as much reason to go back to school as you do."

Mickey gazed at Donald's mess of a left eye, "Huh, why?"

"I underestimated the strength of a midget."

* * *

"So, how'd it go?" Daisy asked as both her and Minnie strolled down the sidewalk. She knew what event she was referring to, what else could have it honestly been?

"It was alright. He got me to talking after a while, I think he only befriended me for my body though. I also kept catching him staring at my bow. He didn't really teach me any of the things you promised..." Minnie confessed with a sigh, adjusting her slightly lopsided bow as she did.

"Aww, what? ! Well, that was only one date! After a few more, you'll learn that he's not all-"

"Did you just say date?" Minnie interrupted, stammering somewhat.

Daisy narrowed her eyebrows, but once she understood the gist of what she was getting at, she smirked, "Oh I get it. You actually want to have a fling with this guy, but because of _all _your former fuck-ups, you think you'll fuck up this too, right? Hmph, that's quite original of you!"

"You're taunting me are you?"

"Just a _little _bit. You really need to stop being so quiet, I mean sure it's part of your character, but it's really going to hinder you sooner or later."

"Woah, woah wait! When did I tell you I liked this guy? I mean, just because I had a small thing for just about every guy I've been acquainted with doesn't mean I can't be friends with at least one!" Minnie exclaimed, much to Daisy's surprised reaction.

"Wait, what? !-"

"I'll explain later. But in all honesty, I don't think this Mickey guy is right for me, friend or companion wise. He seems more interested in what I'm wearing than what's inside."

"Well you've only ever been in his company for less than an hour, you just need to spend even more time with him! I'm sure he was at least interested in one thing about you that wasn't your breasts!"

Minnie scrunched her nose and looked up at the sky, "He did ask me what music I liked, but I think it was some asshole he was talking to on the phone that told him to ask me that. Are you sure you're still doing this just so I can outside of my shell?"

Daisy rolled her eyes as the two came up to a crossing, "Some of my plans may have changed somewhat here and there. Don't worry, it's all in good name! Nothing will go wrong, just relax and enjoy the ride!"

"Somehow I feel as if I'm no longer safe around you." Minnie mumbled, half-jokingly, half-serious.

"Again, just relax honey, I got this, I've always got this. Now how about we go to that_ Starbucks _over there and get you a...get'cha a...a big juicy pastry, huh?" Daisy suggested with an elbow nudge.

"They sell pastries there?" she asked, dumbfounded.

Daisy wrapped her arm around her as soon as they were allowed to cross. She was clearly trying to potray a calm, mentor-like attitude, "Honey it's _Starbucks_. I'm almost certain they have pastries."

"Hey! My old town only had a _Starbucks _stand in it, and they only sold coffee!" she retorted.

"Ehh, you honestly haven't missed much." Daisy confessed with a swift shrug.

* * *

"I still fail to see any reasonable logic in this. It's like this is all supposed to be some sort of bad dream that I'm going to wake up from in a few minutes. I mean, it's hilarious as hell that you fucked up, but I still feel somewhat sympathetic y'know? Even if this shit makes little to no sense." Mickey mused as he looked outside the window of the car. Donald was too disrupt to be driving, or at least, that's what he believed. So he opted to allow Mickey to drive, to which he reluctantly agreed to after his laziness failed to put up much of a fight.

"This is all over simply because the police didn't take me in?" Donald asked from his seat, dreading the moment that they would reach the building, but at the same time, also anxious. Who knows, maybe he _would _get fired. It would be completely obnoxious if he didn't, for one thing.

"It can be justified you know, that company has a _lot _of power..." Donald went on, waiting for the crowning moment of bluntness that would be Mickey's response.

It was as if the table had completely flipped their personalities.

"A company should not have that much power over the fate of two lone individuals, let alone one, that makes as much sense as me doing my Mc'mom." Mickey turned, throwing a fetal-positioned Donald to the window, "Ow!"

"Yeah, trapping your knees with your arms is _perfect _safety!"

"You driving is _all _the safety I'll ever need, buddy!"

Mickey stopped at a red light, giving a mocking grin to his roomie, "Look everyone, _Casper's_ going to step up to his punching bag again!"

"Really fucking manly for the guy who eats _Nutella! _Enjoy your goddamn diabetes!"

Mickey stepped on the gas after the red light turned to a bright green, "Here we go again. Don tries to pick on me because I like and do hipster things. Is that your little "running gag" you're going to be using against me from now on? Is this what turns your funny boner on?"

After a few seconds of silence, they laughed. Again, another situation in which a heated argument manages to turn into nothing more than an accurate example of their bumpy friendship.

"What exactly is a funny boner?" Donald asked, intrigued by the nonsense that Mickey spat out of his sewer of a mouth.

"I like to believe it's a more mature, more suitable for us variation of the "funny bone". It fits our dynamic _and _our target demographic!"

"This is why you're the driver, and I'm the passenger." Donald noted, but his grin turned into a frown. He could have sworn the publisher wasn't _this _close to their apartment.

Mickey turned off the ignition, and turned to Donald, "It's a shame that such a great chemistry has to be broken, now get out, it's time for your penalty hour!"

"Alright. If you're going to fucking make me..." Donald groaned, and exited the car with his friend soon beside him. They began their trip to the front doors of the building.

"You punched a co-worker in the face. Why did you not think that this was coming? Why did you not think _any _consequence was coming? !" Mickey protested again, Donald wonderd if he would ever fully grasp the shit that went down the previous day.

"Sometimes I can be as stupid as you, if I try. This time it worked." Donald bluntly replied, "And don't get too cocky either. Second we're outta here, you're going _straight _to _Employment Ville!_"

"Oh fuck, don't tell me that's today?"

Donald shifted his eyes both to the left and right, and leaned into Mickey's ear.

_"It's today."_

"That's not exactly what I had in mind when I told you not to tell me that."

"America's next generation _Stephen Hawking_, everyone! What did you _want _me to say?"

Mickey furrowed his brow, "Something not mean."

"Yeah, that's real specific. Look, you keep this up and I'm going to make the first destination on your work trip be the absolute _worst._" Donald threatened, waggling his index finger in Mickey's face.

"Worst? What's the worst you can do to me? You already give me hell as it is."

Donald leaned into Mickey's ear for the second time that day, murmuring something that casued Mickey to shudder on-spot. He scowled, and gave his friend a disapproving glance.

"No, no. You fucking wouldn't. You wouldn't dare..."

"Try me."

"You know, every damn whisper you give me makes me die a little inside, right?"

"Considering how most of our conversations dissolve into quick, pointless arguments, I'm surprised as to how you're not a corpse yet. What kind of special freaking magic serum are you scarfing?" Donald asked, his smile reflecting his current tone. That of a hypocritical cocky faggot who got what was coming to him.

* * *

"Y'know Don, I had promise for ya, you were going to go far, baby! Shine like a star! Like a-"

"Geoff. Geoff was going to shine like a star, Mortimer. And for all the wrong reasons too." Donald interrupted with an index finger pointed in the air. He looked over to the man in question, Geoff, who merely gave him a meek friendly wave. Doanld scoffed and returned to the situation at hand. He was starting to question if ascending ten floor was really worth it just to get a pink slip.

The out-of-order elevator surely didn't help his decision.

Mickey awkwardly shuffled around in the office, trying to find comfort in the couch that he was told to sit in. But it was difficult considering that three people were discussing business no more than a few feet away from him.

"Point still stands. Fuzz would have got ya and took ya in for disturbing a public event, but I called it off because I had it under control! Bluetooth, baby, it never fails me!"

"Look, can I just leave now? It's clear that the only way this is gonna get settled is if you fire me, which I actually _want_." Donald said, getting up to leave, but Mortimer's swift handtap to the desk made him sit right back down.

"Not so fast, hotshot! Ha cha cha-ity cha! You and 'ol Geoff ain't getting off so easy! Now, under normal circumstances, I'd only fire Donald. But because not only did you cause the bitchiest of shitstorms, you _also _called out Geoff and made the public rage even more! Now the company's facing protests from anally distressed people who actually _care_ about today's state of literature! Both hilarious _and _pathetic!'

Mortimer took out the cigar he was smoking, and blew a ring into the air, "So. You're both fired. I'm actually sorry to see Geoff go, you were actually pretty cool. I mean Donald I never honestly gave a shit for, but you were alright. Oh yeah, and just to ensure you two, specifically Donald; ain't gonna cause anymore funny stuff, we've set a restraining order on ya."

"Isn't that a little too harsh?" Geoff asked, the first he's spoke since the meeting began.

"Definitely! But that's what the press wants! Cold, hard, harsh treatment that gets people pickin' sides! Now scram, restraining order comes in action now. Chip and Dale, y'know what to do!" Mortimer concluded his speech with a snap of his finger, two midgets came to his aid, and before any of them could make a vocal response, the three of them were thrown out.

"Fuck yeah, freedom! Fired! There's no better saving grace!" Donald cried happily, doing many odd but positive things to the neat carpeting of the upper floor. Mickey helped him to his feet and snapped him out of his trance.

"That's nice and all, but before we get kicked out of the apartment, wouldn't it be freaking nice if we go out and get that job for me? !"

Donald cocked an eyebrow, "Weren't you frightened as fuck moments ago about the very thought?"

"As long as we don't go to that place, I won't be afraid."

"I'll take your word for it, but no promises. Now that we got this little episode over with, let's move on with the next portion of our lives." Donald grabbed Mickey's arm and headed for the stairs, but a hand stopped him before he got far.

It was fucking Mr. Farmer, his smug-ass self.

"I'm sorry about, y'know, everything-" he started.

Donald cut him off before he could continue.

"No. Don't even get involved anymore than you've already have, I've had enough of your crap, Farmer. This is what I want, so don't try playing the hero. Got it?" Donald narrowed his eyes and shot a finger at him, and Geoff could do nothing but stare at him with a blank face. The pupil of Donald's swollen eye started to wander about on it's own, and that got his attention moreso than Donald himself.

Donald pictured his silence as a sign of approval, and with a "hmph" he departed with Mickey down the hall.

Or, he would have, had he not have been so full of ignorance that he actually walked into a wall.

"Augh! Fuck!"

Mickey grabbed Donald's shoulders and turned him away from Geoff, pushing him down the hall rather forcefully, "What Don _meant _to say that while he appreciates your effort at trying to rekindle his trust in you, he's actually quite fine with his fate and will gladly disappear from your life entirely, thank you for your time!"

Geoff watched as Mickey hastedly pulled Donald, who now had _two _swollen peepers, down the hallway until they finally reached the staircase.

"Sheesh, feller sounded more nice in my books than just now.."

* * *

**Date I began writing this chapter: July 10th, 2012**

**Date I finished writing this chapter: July 13th, 2012**

**Mickey's job search finally begins next chapter! While Donald begins to find himself in the company of Geoff far too often for his own comfort, and no, it's not in the way you'd like to think.**

**See ya guys real soon!**


	6. Latency

**Sixth chapter! Thanks for reviewing guys, really sorry about the short hiatus! Seems like the vacation took more of a toll on me than I'd like, let's get to those reviews, shall we?**

**Harmy52: Woah, thanks, thanks a lot really! I hope I didn't scare you, this story will continue! ^^" And yeah, their relationship is a conflicting gift of pure vulgarity, but they're cool with it in the end.**

**Guests 1 & 2: Thank you very much for the compliments! Please keep reviewing! Maybe pick up a name?**

**Mighty Agamenon: Thanks for the review! Yeah, Chip and Dale are complete asses to Don, same as always!**

**Another thanks to everyone who's been reading the story, to everyone else, please read and review! ^^" And maybe tell your buds about it so they can read too? Haha, I'm sure not many people in the archive would be interested in a Disney-primary story. Kudos to those that do though!**

**Word Count: 4164 words.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Yaddity yappity yod.**

* * *

Latency

Alternate Title: Cats Don't Burn Cats

_The delay time between the end of one communication and the start of another. During this time, the processes associated with the communication are hung up and cannot continue. Software engineers work to reduce latency to a minimum._

"And you don't think you overreacted towards Geoff?" Mickey asked, interrupting Donald's daydreaming as he looked outside the passenger window. It was a lucid daydream, colors everywhere, buildings like ice cream cones, every car was a poorly animated CGI purple elephant that skipped merrily.

But all of that became irrelevant the second Mickey snapped his fingers, he was still demanding an answer.

"Not at all. He deserves his just desserts, a taste of his own medicine! He was a cancerous shrew, and now he's out of our lives for good. Goodbye and good fucking riddance!" Donald declared with a smile, still feeling the enthusiastic jive over being fired. Because of that, he removed his eyepatches, despite the fact that his eyes looked two big sweaty, pus-filed, bloated sacks without them.

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe Geoff had a life, and maybe a family?" Mickey asked behind the wheel, Donald was feeling too empowered to give a damn about something so casual as driving. So he let Mickey ride it.

It was a huge middle finger to conflict his neckbeard vibes.

"Did you ever stop to warn me about that before I did it? Too late for cryptic guilt shit. You jumped on that band wagon _way _too late."

Mickey rolled his eyes, after seeing Geoff for the first time mere moments ago, he began to have second thoughts about Donald's loathe-littered biased description of him. He didn't look despicable, neither did he appear to be greedy, he wasn't fat, actually quite well-built. In fact, Mickey would even go as far as to say that there was nothing different about him than any other typical working man.

"_So why was Don getting so anally distraught over someone he only just met five seconds ago?_"

"I don't care what he looks like, what he acts like, what he treats people like, _fuck,_ I don't even care about what his _pants size i_s! He robbed me of my glory and I'm done. I'm done with that company and I'm gone! End of discussion." Donald concluded. Closing off any further thoughts Mickey had.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"No, I became a psychic and I read your goddamn mind, you need to learn to keep that trap shut, it'll save you from unnecessary bashing. Most of which come from me, who else?"

"You know, I could have done with just a simple "Yes.""

Donald's sunken eyes zoned out again, taking in the scenery passing by as they drove through downtown, "And I wish I could have done with parents that weren't complete divorce fodder crap. Did I get that? No, 'course I didn't."

That last comment must have hit both of them hard. Because neither spoke anything else until they arrived at the destination Donald had requested Mickey to drive to.

As they stopped in the parking lot, Mickey sat there with his friend, keys still in the ignition. The air conditioner was there only company, for neither of the two were fond of the African-American dominant trash that was the radio.

Mickey's hand grabbed the keys, but he still sat there, not bothering to take them out. He was using this time to think, and since Donald wasn't complaining, it was evident that he was too.

He knew little about Donald's parents, or his childhood, or fuck, how about his _complete _backstory? All those topped the list of things that Mickey was still not informed of when it came to his roomie.

What little moments that Donald mentioned about them (Or his childhood in general.) were always shrouded in mystery and uttered during the most inconvenient of times, like the time that his mom took him to a fancy restaurant, or that time that he went to summer camp, and came back with his underwear and socks having been stolen. (Later mentions revealed that the scoutmaster did it.) Perhaps the most poignant was the time that Donald talked of receiving his first alcoholic beverage at the tender age of fourteen, from a man that had claimed to be his long-lost uncle. A supposedly clueless Donald then rambled on about how he didn't see much of his Uncle Beagle after that, how he fell unconscious and later woke up naked after what he assumed was a party, and how it turned out that they weren't even related in the first place.

There were probably much more, but those were the most prominent that Mickey remembered. He looked over to his friend, who was still gazing outside the windows. The rings under his eyes were sporting a dark shade of purple, and his eyes had sunk so much that it looked like they were going to sink into his head.

Mickey finally took the keys out of the ignition, chiding himself for letting that minor mishap get in the way of their current plans. Although Mickey didn't know much of Donald's possibly mental-scarring childhood, it was probably for the best in the end. Leave the ambiguous pieces in their place, and someone else will eventually connect the situation together.

"It's time to go, Don." Mickey declared.

"Thanks, Cap'n Obvs. I wouldn't have known that unless you had informed me! Come on, let's go get you that damn job." Donald responded, lending his friend an eager slap on the back just before he stepped out.

Sometimes Mickey would wonder why he would put up with Donald's conflictive crap, why he hadn't moved out, why he hadn't ended their friendship. His conclusion wasn't as satisfying as he had hoped.

Donald needed him more than he previously thought.

* * *

"Y'know, earlier I felt enthusiastic about getting that job, but now I'm not so sure..." Mickey mumbled, utilizing the newspaper dispenser machine as his personal pillow.

"We get it, you're bi-polar. But that shouldn't stop you from getting the _greatest _job in America! Just think, after this, you can finally walk down the sidewalk and say, "Hey! I'm Mickey motherfucking Iwan, and I make so much goddamn money that hoes _pay _to stay _with _me!" then everyone else will stare at your in either envy or pity. Most likely pity." Donald explained, jabbing an elbow into Mickey's ribs.

"I don't think you can use vulgarity to sugar coat a situation like this.." Mickey muttered.

"Calm down, you're only acting mad because I brought you here of all places." Mickey snapped up and looked at him, his face looked pretty damn peeved.

Mickey turned that face into a grin, a grin that subtly emphasized just how ticked Donald had made him, "Out of_ all _you could have chose for me to seek employment...You pick here?"

"I've said it before and I'll say it again, hipsters like you are fashionable when it comes to coffee!" Donald declared, but Mickey still wasn't seeing it.

"How exactly is minimum wage going to help secure our rent for the month?" asked Mickey, still lying on the dispenser.

Donald flapped his lips, "Pfft. Well it sure doesn't with _that _attitude." he retorted. Mickey was still unsure about getting employed at one of his most hated places in town, but Donald wasn't giving much of a choice. The little prick.

Before he even knew it, Donald had grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to face the door, "Now. I hear _real _men with _real _abs who have seven _real _girlfriends for each _real _seven days of the week are able to jobs like this in a pinch. Can you?"

Mickey opened his mouth to reply, but Donald interrupted him, "Can you? !"

"Uhh-"

"Are you a man? !"

"Pretty sure-"

"Do you think you have balls? !"

"I'd be pretty fucked up if I didn'-"

"Are you going to step into that office, and tell that coffee manager guy that you _demand _a job? !"

"Yeah!"

"Are you a quitter?"

"No!"

"Will you ever quit? !"

"Never!"

"I vaguely recall you saying two days ago that you'll never work here, now you're in front of the fucking door, are you going to give up? !"

"Never!"

"Then you march into there, and show me your goddamn moves!" with that, Donald opened the glass door that led into _Starbucks _and shoved Mickey in.

After a few seconds. Donald felt quite dry. he hadn't drank anything since the morning. And if he recalled clearly, _milk _with a hint of marshmallow flavor did not count as a beverage.

"Well, might as well. Wouldn't want him to fuck up on the first customer." Donald said to no one in particular. With a careless, pride-filled shrug, he entered the Starbucks without any expectations.

He had been here countless times before, each time dragging Mickey along. And each and every single time, he would make at _least _one comparison between the hipster sub-culture and just about every beverage the establishment sold, soon turning it into a running gag.

These repetitive and most of all, unfunny jokes, drove Mickey to develop both a hatred of the place.

Donald grew to like it.

He began to stroll over to his favorite table, the one he always sat in everytime he came to the place. Precisely why it was his favorite. What other reason would he have to like it? Because it looked good? Sure, it was a pretty damn good looking table, but it didn't fit with the color scheme of his apartment. The whole thing would look too out of place.

You don't pick favorites for reasons like that, that was akin to saying that you prefer soup because you enjoy the texture.

_"Wait, what the fuck?"_

_Texture_ of soup? _Texture. _Of soup...

Donald shook his head lightly, what was supposed to be outsider narration was blending into his hypocritical thoughts.

With the self-aware thoughts locked away and filed under a folder in his mind labeled, "Cancerous Shit", he continued his short trek to the table, and reached it no more than a few seconds later.

What he found there absolutely pissed him off to no end.

Here he was, trying to get his friend a job. A job he needs because he was fired from his own along with a guy he despises about twenty minutes ago. A move that he did on purpose. A move that in retrospect, seemed retarded. Did he still regret? Not at all. A job so that they can pay the rent. A rent that if they don't pay, they get thrown out for. If they get thrown out, they're homeless; homeless bums who fish dumpsters for _Taco Bell _wrappers in a sad attempt to lick the sauce still sticking on there.

Homeless bums don't know the difference between raccoon diarrhea and Taco Bell sauce.

Now, during this plan to get his friend a job. All he asks for in return is a drink because he's parched. A simple drink at his simple freaking favorite seat is all he wants. Fortunately, it's not that that pisses him off. He's pretty damn sure he's going to get the drink, he wouldn't have come into the shop in the first place if that wasn't the case.

What _was_ the case was the person was already sitting at his seat.

_His _seat. The seat he didn't own, but always claimed as his.

And if it wasn't enough that this guy wasn't just some passerby. He turned out to be another complete dickhead entirely.

Except this just wasn't any dickhead, this was a dickhead that Donald knew.

A dickhead that Donald last saw about twenty damn minutes ago.

In the flesh himself, it was Geoff motherfucking Farmer.

As if his luck couldn't get any worse, Geoff looked up from his cup and smiled that smile that made him just want to go out, grab a preserved penis, and snap it in two.

"Well hello, friend!" Geoff greeted, motioning to the seat in front of him.

With that, Donald had finally classified Geoff. This guy just wasn't some douchebag who stole credit. This was a maniac douchebag who was a douchebag by not even _trying _to be one. This was the demonic lovechlid of Satan and the sexiest succubus whatever the currency in Hell was could buy disguised as an optimistic schemer.

He didn't agree to his idea of just _sitting _down, that would imply that he actually appreciated the space his existence was taking up. Instead, he slammed his hands on the table.

"What...How...How are you even here? ! We left before you! How did you get here so fast? ! It makes no damn sense!"

Geoff let out a string of chuckles, succeeding in causing Donald's swollen left eye to twitch. The fact that Geoff's eye wasn't as swollen from his swing just added to his stress, "Haha! Are you going to sit here and ask questions, or are we going to discuss plans?"

Donald was going to lose it, but his rage shifted to confusion when he heard the mention of plans, "Wait, what? Plans? Plans for what? When did you first mention this, I never recalled any past mentions of plans!"

"Plans to get our jobs back, you _do _want your job back, right?"

"The reason I punched you in the face _was _to get fired _on _purpose! What part of that do you not understand? ! I punched you in the face. At the _very _least, punch _me_ in the face!"

Geoff took a sip of his coffee and then motioned at his eyes, "Two things. One: This is a public place, fellow. You'd better keep that tone lowered, and two: I think you have enough swollen eyes for one day."

He punched this guy in the face out of downright hatred; and he gives him a fucking parade?

"_Who raised this man? !_"

Donald sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Look. I don't want my job back, I hated that place. You can go back all you want, I don't care. I'm done, and I'm going to move on. I punched you because I wanted to get out of there, and now I'm free. And now if I remember, I will tell myself that everyday is a gift."

"You act as if it's emotional turmoil, it was just a job man! And I think if we work together, we can prove to Mortimer that we're still usefu-"

"No, I'm done. I'm done, leave me alone, man, just leave me alone." croaked Donald. He began to slug off, back slumped. Until he realized the very reason they confronted each other in the first place.

"And don't ever take my damn table again!"

He left a smiling Geoff there as he started to nibble on his scone.

His opinion of Starbucks was no longer on the same level it was before he entered the place.

It would be a few more tables before he found another notable pair of individuals, fortunately these two were less infuriating than the last scoundrel.

"I find it funny how all the people I hate and love are at the same place this afternoon. Is it just me or does fate like screwing me over today?"

Daisy looked up from her half-eaten pastry, "Well yeah. I hear the most romantic way to greet your girlfriend is by subtly telling her to piss out of his life."

"You know I'm joking. More importantly however, well, well, well. What do we have here?" Donald took the third seat at the table, eying Minnie with faux interest, "If it isn't girl who's getting pegged by Mick. I'm going to be straight with this and assume he didn't use protection, right?"

She didn't even bother responding to the question, "Hey Don, what are you doing here?"

"I could ask the both of you the same question." he retorted.

"Well, since you're acting extremely serious and observant, Minnie and I are because I wanted to get her a big sexy pastry."

Donald cocked an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, what? A _big, sexy pastry...?_"

"Yeah. Big, sexy pastry. What's so wrong about it?"

Donald shrugged, looking around to lift the awkwardness, "I don't know, it just sounds weird out of context! Don't call me out on this stuff!" Daisy rolled her eyes, at least her mind wasn't in the gutter.

"So what are _you _doing here? I thought you had some punishment meeting to go to?" at the mention of said meeting, Donald's eyes widened. As if doubting that he heard what she just said correctly.

"Huh? I don't remember telling you two that! How on earth did you ever find out? !"

Minnie took out her phone in order to shove the small screen in Donald's face, "That punch of yours is all over the internet! Any user who's _any _user has already re-blogged it to Facebook, Youtube, Twitter, y'know the works!"

Daisy then complimented the move by taking out her own phone, "And let's not forget that status updated you posted a few hours ago!"

Donald read the first few words out in his mind, and instantly remembered it.

"_Dreamt that I had a one-night stand with a gumball machine that later gave me the big A. Going to receive job penalty today._"

He slapped his forehead, "Why is it that I keep forgetting about that stuff?"

Minnie answered that for him, "Because you're not as socially active as everyone thinks you are."

"If that was the case I'd be at home more often in the comfort of my computer," he started; taking a short break to steal a piece of Daisy's pastry, "it's not."

Daisy was disappointed about the loss of her food but shrugged it off, "So what's with the dark eyes? Is there some sort of "raccunatic" guild I wasn't informed about?"

Before Donald could make a witty comeback, he looked at the space in-between the two girls. Not that far away, he saw Mickey behind the counter, except now he sported a green apron and visor.

"Y'know, it's not like I _want _to leave you two ladies here, but I have...matters to attend to, _over there!_" with a few unintended awkward pauses, Donald left the table and power-walked over to the counter.

"Wait! What about the eyes? !"

Donald quickly thought up of a failsafe excuse, "Low budget, art student film rendition of _Pirates of the Caribbean _with raccoons!"

"Oh fuck, I can't believe you actually did it. You fucking took my advice, hilarious!" Mickey glumly ignored his taunts and took out a handful of confetti from a bucket. With a scowl, he tossed it over their heads.

"And presenting, the newest_ Starbro_, Mickey Iwan..._Hooray._" he said, as if he were a robot. What he said next made Donald whistle around in faux innocence.

"You tricked me!"

It turned out that Donald was, _less_ than formidable at whistling than he had previously thought. He gave up halfway and placed both of his hands on the counter.

"Okay, so I kinda did! But you were acting so bi-polar this whole day that _god _only knows what you wanted to do, plus you're not exactly the most wide-ranged talented guy I know. So I buttered you up like a man and now you're stuck in a cute little uniform, that was faster than I thought it was going to be!"

Mickey pulled the visor down so it could cover his face, "The manager called in sick today."

"What does that have to do with you?"

"The manager makes all the decisions. Since he was gone, his assistant spoke to me, he couldn't have cared less so he just picked me up right on the spot. Once I realized you pulled a fast one, it was too late to get out of it, so I _was _going to purposely fucked up the job interview. But what do ya fucking know, it _doesn't _happen." explained Mickey, he placed his chin in his right hand while his left made circles in the counter.

"Erm, if the manager was sick, then shouldn't the assistant have taken charge and-"

Mickey slapped his left hand on Donald's shoulder, trying to sound as calm as possible, "Don Don, _Don_.. It's a Starbucks. I'm pretty sure that guy couldn't have given a _Starfuck._".

"Makes me wonder why he has that authority then...Whatever it is, it's in the past. I'm not going to push something that's essentially our last resort for survival-"

"Yeah, thanks to you! You're lucky the only reason I haven't ditched is so it doesn't bite me in the ass in the future. Hear that? This is for you, douchebag!"

Donald slugged arm around him, "Oh boy, oh _fucking _boy! I'm proud of you, willing to suffer through a shit job just for me. This means I've raised you well, like a son even!"

"Well, when you put it in that context it sounds much more obscene..." Mickey pointed out with a as-a-matter-of-fact tone. Donald turned Mickey's head to the table he came from, and used his wrapped finger to point at Daisy and Minnie.

"But they don't have to know that. Unless the internet gets involved, in which case the best case scenario involves changing our names and hitch-hiking it out to Wyoming. We could learn to be sheep herders and be like those guys from _Brokeback Mountain!_"

"Uhh, I don't want to be like those kinda guys..." Mickey admitted, he broke the interaction and then scanned at the people Donald was referring to, "Woah! Woah, woah, woah!"

"Woah woah what _what_? Why are you insane? !"

"You _didn't _tell me she would be here! What's wrong with you? ! Do you think this is a big game, Don? ! A big game where you make me do things that amuse you for no real reason other than aforementioned amusement? ! Is that what you think? !" their calm conversation had turned into a whisper argument. Complete with Mickey hysterically shaking Donald by the shoulders.

"Sometimes, but not all the time. _This _isn't one of those times. I didn't even know she would be here anyway, she just randomly appeared out of no where because she wanted to fulfill her big, kooky, sexy, stupid, pastry, sex fantasy! I have no control over hormones that aren't my own!...But if I _did_, let's just say Thursdays would be a lot busier..." Donald explained, remaining calm for the most part.

"This isn't a joke, this is no game. This is life, this is life and we're the players!-"

"But you just said this wasn't a game-"

"No time! This is life and it wants to screw me over! Look at me, dressed in this cutesy outfit, do you think I pick up bitches with this outfit? Because I don't think I can even pick up Mc'mom with this on!"

"Why would you even consider-?"

"No time for incest! You have to help me, I'm not prepared for this, yesterday was so awkward and junk. She's going to want to talk about it, even worse, probably about our preferences in music. Do you know how picky women are about music these days? It's insane!" if Donald could, he would have slammed Mickey's face into the counter to just shut him up. But considering that it was a public establishment, he settled for a gentle slap on the face.

"Alright, alright! Calm down.-"

"I am calm!"

"And yet while you say that, your tone says otherwise. So, since everything so far today has been going _swimmingly _for you, unlike me, I'll help you just so this balance can remain consistent...On one condition."

"What?"

Donald held out his hand, "Soda. Free. Put that together and reverse the word order: Free soda. It's the least you could do for your first customer."

Mickey clicked his tongue, shaking his head. Though he did admit he got out lucky, he could have asked for something much more humiliating. After making sure no one was looking, (He noted how it wasn't even ten minutes and he was already breaking employee code.) he handed the soda over.

Donald took the soda with pride, until he realized that Mickey couldn't even perform the simplest of tasks correctly.

"This is diet. I didn't ask for diet."

"Yeah, but your _thighs _did. Trust me Don, you're going to thank me when people can no longer hear you walking from a kilometer away." to that Donald sighed and walked back to Daisy's table.

Following a short conversation that Mickey was unable to overhear due to how far away he was, Donald returned with a smug look on his face. (That was completely ruined by his black eyes from a bystander's glance.) This caused Mickey to gulp, he either just scored or got another one of his dick ideas.

"Oh god...What did you do?"

"I did what you asked me to do, I fixed it."

Mickey looked past Donald, eying Daisy leaving Minnie, who was now walking _over to him. _

"I told her just _how _much you wanted to see her again. See? I did help you! Now you owe me a favor to keep that balance up, a favor that we can discuss later..." Donald pointed his index finger in the air, but Mickey slapped it away.

"I hope you find piss in that diet soda."

Donald continued to sip out of the can, "I wouldn't be surprised. Sure tastes like piss, too. Alright I'm outta here, gotta go cook with and then peg Daisy. See ya at the room!" with that. Donald walked away, leaving Mickey with Minnie again.

"Uhh, _hey. . . _How are you, and...stuff?" Mickey tried to start it out cool, but it came out horribly.

Donald was able to still hear the two, and he silently chuckled to himself, "Spoken like a true puss." he attempted to join his girlfriend outside, but he was stopped short.

"Geoff? You're _still _here?" he asked, with extreme emphasis placed on, "_still_".

"Friend, you only just yelled at me fifteen minutes ago! 'Course I'm still here. And I'm gonna help you whether you like it or not, so here, take my business card!" Geoff suggested, revealing the small rectangular slip of paper from his pocket. Donald stared at it with a face of disinterest, all it depicted were the details of where he lived and his name, nothing much to fuss over.

_Geoff Farmer, Professional Author_

He continued to stare at it, while Geoff made motions requesting for him to take it out of his hands. Donald wasn't complying though, so these awkward motions continued for a few seconds.

"Y'know what? I'm just going to place it _right _here, in your pocket!" Geoff grabbed the card, and slid an inch of it into the pocket. Using his index finger, he slowly kept tapping at it until it slipped in fully. Accompanied by an original sound effect.

"Boop."

"Boop."

"Boop."

"Boop."

"Boop."

"Boop."

"Boop."

"Boop."

"Boop."

"Boop."

After the last push, Geoff held out two thumbs up. Donald's face still hadn't change, "Right! You just call me when you think of a plan to get back into business, okay?"

His face was still blank.

"Okay then, it's a deal!" with a handshake which Donald refused to comply to, Geoff finally left.

And soon Donald was as well, to join his girlfriend for a night of cooking that didn't suck ass _or _get delivered by some hairy neckbeard. As he left the establishment, he muttered another snarky line.

"Once again, spoken like a true damn puss."

To him, that was righteous.

* * *

**Date I began writing this chapter: July 22th, 2012**

**Date I finished writing this chapter: July 25th, 2012**

**So Geoff wants to help out Donald, no matter how many times Donald says he couldn't care less, Mickey gets a job at the one place he **_**doesn't **_**want it at, and we learn that a certain someone's childhood mentally scarred him for the rest of his natural life.**

**Please review! See you guys real soon!**


	7. Brushless Servomotor

**Seventh chapter! But before we get to it, let's talk to our reviewers!**

**Mighty Agamemnon: Three words. Midgets are strong. And thank you for reviewing!**

**Scribbles: Thank you for your review! I don't think I'm the best out there, but ah, I appreciate it regardless.**

**This chapter is more Mickey-centric than Donald-centric. As is to say, Mickey's side of the plot is more at focus than Donald's side for once. Just a nice change, but Donald still has a subplot, so don't worry! I just thought we've talked about Donald way more than Mickey in the past, and I knew that Mickey's plot would eventually come into focus soon, so I wanted to start that off as soon as possible.**

**Also heads up. The cover image for this story -will- change every five chapters! You might have noticed that last chapter, if you did, excellent. They'll remain to be pictures of robots, and will make more sense as the story progresses.**

**PS: There's some Tumblr bashing in this chapter, I have a personal "grudge"ish thing with that place that nobody but myself will ever really understand.**

**Word Count: 3775**

* * *

Brushless Servomotor

Alternative Title: The Elusive Peacock Lodge of Derogatory Intelligence

_A class of servomotors which operates using electronic commutation of phase currents rather than electromechanical (brushes) commutation. Commutation is a function of rotor position. These motors typically have a permanent magnet rotor and wound stator._

Dreams.

Dreams aren't exactly what popular media and just about every hipster on _Tumblr _(So just about every user?) wants the public to mistakenly believe.

To put it in the most base form possible, let's just say that everything and anything anyone knows about dreams, is probably a lie; a complete and utter lie.

With that in mind, it should become clear what dreams really are. Dreams are essentially, gigantic screw-overs that mock people about things that they'll never get, and events that are too unlikely to occur. Like surreal, bizarre visions into the world of yester-morrow, tomorr-esterday, and to-destarorrow. Filled with mind-boggling patterns of colors, memories, and more or less a light version of a hangover. Because rarely does one ever remember what they dreamt about.

In a way, a comparison can be made from this. The people are the bitches, the dreams are the pimps. If dreams were able to manifest into a physical form, the public would be consistently sucking their dick day and night for the rest of their natural lives.

As Mickey lied there on Minnie's couch for some made-up excuse he can't even believe she fell for, he recalled the events that went down the previous day, and realized that they were no bullshitting dream.

Today is November fourteenth, the day it became Mickey's time.

* * *

_One Day Ago..._

If Mickey's body had been anymore animated than it were when he was born, then he would have been shaking with chattering teeth now. Instead, his heart was beating an unusual fast pace.

Minnie made her way over to him, and like any girl, she was waiting for the guy to start the conversation.

He didn't even want to get started on the freaking oversized bow she decided to wear today. It was almost as if she was teasing him about what he probably could or couldn't get. Who knew? Mickey sure didn't. Women were like puzzles. Most likely rubix cubes. The kind of rubix cubes that were so impossible that one would have to detach the colorful stickers and place them in the correct order in a cheap attempt to cheat.

Cheat at a fucking rubix cube.

Mickey decided that if he were to ever get into her pants, then he'd have to go the smooth route. Preferably the same route had diverged into during their last encounter, just talk about something that was a mutual interest, and hold up that topic for the rest of the conversation.

"So, come here often?" he started, a smirk on his face.

Smug start, bastard.

"_Fuck..." _Mickey knew he was already failing. She wasn't even _looking _at him for godsake, she was looking around at the other paying customers as if she were bored.

"_Is she?_"

"I only come here as often as you see me here." she answered, breaking him out of his thinking process. She faced away from the counter and placed her elbows on it.

"Ouch. I thought Daisy said you were supposed to be a nervous gal who was lacking self-confidence. Isn't that the whole reason you're here?"

She flicked her hair in what would be the epitome of middle fingers to Mickey that day, "I am, but I'm kinda mad at you right now. I m-mean, it's like, I am nervous inside, but it's like the anger's kinda masking my shyness."

"_Ouch. Harsh, I think._"

"Erm,

"Well you're not really helping me with that self-confidence issue, contradicts what Daisy told me about you." she crossed her arms, looking away, and Mickey can only feel like he's fucking this up even more as he goes along.

So he decided to try and patch things up. . . In the worst way possible, "Why would you say that?"

She didn't hesitate to turn around and get into his face for this one, "Because you're supposed to be helping me get out of my shell, and instead it feels more like you're trying to bond with me.

"Hey, hey! I'm trying alright! I just need to ...get to know you and stuff before I risk forcing you to do stuff you don't want to do for attention."

"_Phew, nice peer pressure related save there._"

Minnie rolled her eyes, "Look, if you start to really help me, we can get through this. Most of my life, more or less, has been a social trainwreck, and I really want you to help me fix that, but I'm hesitant because by the looks of it, you just seem to be another guy aiming for my ass..." her tone started to drop miraculously, and slowly returned to the shy and insensitive girl that Mickey knew and loved. (Fact aside that he only knew her for a day, that is. He wasn't ready to accept the fact that the concept of love would never occur over the course of a day.)

"_Who wouldn't?_"

"Fine, as long as you stop this grumpy tone, I have feelings too y'know!" to that, Minnie smiled. She clasped her hands together, pleased that a compromise was reached.

"Aww, that's adorable, that's also what they all say!"

Mickey frowned, "They? Who's they? !"

Minnie clicked her tongue to what she thought was a vile question, "Eh. Just...people. Anywho, I guess we have a deal then, um. Don't we? You treat me how to get in touch with everything, I give you...uh."

He figured that by now he could get the upper edge of the game, so he silenced her mouth with his finger, "Leave that part to me. Promise, I'll think of something!"

She shifted back, "Your tone makes me hope otherwise."

Mickey grinned, "So now that we have our little conflict settled, how's about you and me actually get to know each other better. Let's say, not here? Things can get spicy, like. Not that kind of spicy, but like, the casual kind of spicy that fits your notable attributes!" so far, so good. It would only be a matter of time before he would score some.

"_Man, I'm awful._"

Minnie opened her mouth to speak, but her bow flopped out of position and part of it covered her face. Instead, she just nodded and fiddled around with it until the damn thing managed to stay up.

"Hm, I guess that can work! I don't think I'd like a pessimistic Donald ruining our time though, why don't you come over to my place?"

By now, Mickey was convinced that he had achieved the ultimate jackpot. He thought that it couldn't possibly get any better from what he had going right now but then again, it was worth a shot to see if he could gamble for something better...

"I dunno, what do you have that piques my interest?" he started to drum his hand on the table in a rhythm. He would have admitted that it was a pointless effort to keep his charm and cool, but not in front of her. That would be humiliating for too many obvious reasons.

"Well, I've got a Wii."

Of course he would blow it at that moment.

"Oh...Oh! So you're one of _those _girls aren't you?...O-oh god!"

And what comes with blowing a moment is usually a slap or a silent goodbye. "Off" comments usually grant the former to the offender.

Fortunately she was kind enough to give him a flick on the forehead.

"No, you dummy! Get your head cleaned, does it look like I have a penis?" Mickey scratched his chin, _those _kinda people were very convincing. He decided to quote himself from a earlier time, a year ago to be exact, in which he tried to convince Donald that their spa massager was a trap.

But Donald's stubbornness wouldn't allow for that, and he still fapped himself into the night.

To this day, Mickey still cries in his sleep about letting him do that.

"You know, I could always check..."

Minnie narrowed her eyes, "Please don't push it, " she turned around and headed for the door, "come over when you're done with that shift."

He nodded, not sporting a reaction due to how speechless he was. He scored. He scored. It wasn't a full score but he assumed that it had to count for something, whether it be a point or half a point or even an eighth of a point, he didn't care. He got up to bat and that's all that mattered.

Or well, that _was _all that mattered. Until another startling realization hit him like a ton of bricks being shat out of donkey's anus.

"Wait, I don't know where you live!"

He was too late though, she was gone. So the next twenty seconds were spent wallowing in self-loathe about that screw-up, and debate over whether or not to deduct that sixteenth of a point he just earned.

The next thirty were spent observing the string of numbers she had left him on a napkin.

With his confidence back in-check, he felt that he had deserved _double _points for his efforts. It only took about a day to get her number, what guy would ever have that much luck?

It was then that he remembered that Donald took even less time than that.

* * *

_Present Time..._

Donald yawned, and ran a fist against his eyes. His hands searched for a crotch to scratch, but all they found were Daisy's hair.

"_Oh yeah...She's still here._"

He felt like a mess, and didn't want to get up because of it. He placed a hand on his head, nappy as fuck, just as he had deduced.

His adventures with Daisy's hair brought her attention outside of the dream she was currently in. She groaned, and remembered that she was still at Donald's apartment. She relaxed into the comfort of his touch, and gave his neck a little nip.

Donald took that as the calling card that she was awake, "Damn...Last night was amazing." he commented out loud, eyes still closed.

To that, she tried rummaging through her memory to find what exactly had made it so "amazing", or at least any different from their previous nights, "But we didn't _do _anything."

"That's what made it so amazing."

She opened her eyes, blinking them twice, "Sometimes, I don't get you. But I'm not going to ask questions. You're too dumb to give a straightforward answer."

"Uh-huh...What's that supposed to mean?"

She propped herself up on his chest using her elbows, "Well for starters, whenever I ask why we don't spend a lot of time with each other anymore, you always change the subject, what's up with that?"

"My hair is nappy, you're on my chest, I have no shirt or pants, you're causing imprints in my fragile skin, chances are I'm still horny, please m'am. Tell me what more it is that you want from me?"

"No. Snuggle time does not count as "real time". What I meant was like..."go out"-"

"We already go out. You wouldn't be on top of me right now if that was not the case, now would you?"

"I didn't mean _that _kind of go out! I meant _"go out" _kind of go out."

Donald pouted his lips and looked up at the ceiling, before looking back at her and shaking his head, "I don't follow you."

"I mean like you, taking me out somewhere, like, I dunno, somewhere where no one would bother us. Or we could just have a peaceful time, or whatever. I don't know, I'm rambling! You just, you're always so busy, and it makes me feel like you purposely _don't _want to hang out."

He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, "That's clearly because I _am_ busy. I write, I write like it's no tomorrow. I write so many convoluted plot lines that it's a wonder and daily amazement to myself as to how Geoff keeps farming success off of me. It makes me question the intelligence of society in both this generation, and the imminent downfall in the next, do you know what that means, honey?"

"Not really, but I'm in the mood for a laugh so I'll go ahead and ask."

Donald sat up, crossing his arms, "It means that I have to write a piece of authentic literature that's _actually _intelligent in an effort to contribute to the cause of preserving what little intelligence mankind has. My self-awareness group on Tumblr is called, "The Elusive Peacock Lodge of Derogatory Intelligence"! It already has sixty-nine followers!"

"Now _I'm _the one who's not following you." Daisy retorted as she got up and stretched, making her way to the kitchen, "How is it so hard to understand that I've rallied up a handful of people who share the same thoughts that I do?"

"That's not the problem I have, the problem I have is how you've managed to find at least _one _person who shares that idea in the first place."

"If it's a problem about me excluding you from the fanart I'll gladly get a peacock to draw you in! They personally draw me as a duck because of this whole running gag in which I accidentally typed "fuck" as "duck". For some reason they picture me in a sailor suit, I don't know why but they say it's the "hottest trend"."

"I don't like the idea of that, but you're changing the subject again! This is about you not spending enough time with me, not you describing your little interactions with your friends on the internet!" she exclaimed from the kitchen in a self-aware tone.

"We're talking right now, but if the problem _is _about me jacking off to peacocks, then I'll gladly change the subject for you dear. Why don't we talk about ramen?"

"Ramen?"

"Ramen."

"Exactly what is there to talk about when it comes to ramen?" Daisy asked. Donald was still resting nonchalantly in his bed, minutes and he still couldn't be bothered to get his ass up.

"Well, we've pretty much dried up every other discussion topic with potential in past times. So I figured that talking about something. . . stupid, like ramen; would enlighten us to talk about more broader subjects. Great idea, right? !"

She was too busy rummaging through the cabinet to reply.

"I guess I'll start off since you're so quiet about it. So my favorite flavor is chicken, although that isn't to say that it's the only flavor I like! I'm also quite partial to oriental, roast beef, shrimp, and spicy lime, which I personally refer to as, "Sexy Lime Deluxe". "

"You know you're starting to sound a lot like Mickey right now, you know that? Where's that cynical, _half-empty _personality that I see so much of?"

"It's gone no where, it's just that I usually act like this whenever I think about _Sexy Lime Deluxe_. It's just so freaking good!"

"Hm, well I find it completely out of your "character". Say, where's the milk at?"

Donald got up at last, trekking to the kitchen in order to help her. He opened the fridge door, but was dismayed upon learning that there wasn't any left, "Hmm, looks like we're all out..."

"Gee, how'd you come to _that _conclusion? Do you mind making a quick trip to the store to get some?" Donald sighed from the request. It was his first full day unemployed and the first part of it had to be spent on errands.

"Can't you go with me? Isn't that what you were so fussy about?"

Daisy sheepishly grinned, "That's more of a nightly affair!"

With a heave of another sigh, Donald left to go put on the proper attire, and exited the apartment with a swift goodbye.

* * *

"Oh man, the stuff we talked about last night, pretty good wasn't it?" Mickey asked, continuing their conversation over breakfast, and a TV that went ignored for the most part.

"Did we have to do the salmon stuff though?" she answered his question with another question, one that was particularly wondering why they wore salmon hats in order to discuss their lives.

"It's a tradition of mine, you wouldn't understand if I told you." Mickey answered just as he took a bite out of the cake she offered him, he recognized the taste, but couldn't pin his tongue on exactly what it was.

"What kinda cake is this anyway?"

"Lemon, I find that any bits of citrus does wonders when baking- Oh!" Minnie gasped as her bow fell in her face again. She pouted, re-asserted her dominance, and placed it back on her head, "I really have to get a hold of that.."

"I don't mind really, that and the cake are making this little scene look kinda cute, you're not that half-bad a baker by the way."

"Oh, you stop! To me that means I'm not half-good either, I like to believe that one day I _could _get good at it though."7

About an hour ago, Mickey was lying on her couch thinking about the previous day's events, now he's sitting with the potential girl of his dreams eating _lemon_ cake with her. _Lemon_ cake for crying out loud!

He didn't even count on her letting him spend the entire night, damn, if Mickey wasn't making any sort of progress by now, he sure as hell would have loved to know what he was doing wrong.

"So, I guess you have to go back to work today, right?" she asked in a disappointed tone. Mickey caught it, and wondered if it was in the context that he thought it was.

"More or less, I don't want to go, but it's the second day, I want to keep up the impression I have while the manager's away. As Don once told me, "You'll never know the true meaning of work until your babysitter makes you star in home movies that you won't be proud of in later years." I mean, I never got that phrase. But I think it just means that I have to keep working in order to feel the pain!"

"Hmm, I guess our little park escapade will have to be post-poned until later then?" asked Minnie, who sheepishly responded to Mickey's enthusiastic fistbump, "Feel the pain!" he exclaimed.

"I'm feeling it, man!"

"And yeah, we can try that, more people will be there by then, and we can have totes fun and jizz-jazz!"

She smiled, and Mickey took note that she's been doing a lot of that lately, "Mmm, I guess it's a plan then, I say we celebrate over lemon cake!"

Mickey smiled back and joined her in a little toast, (Both completely oblivious to the fact that a toast required drinks.) "You know I once drank a whole bottle of fresh lemon juice?"

"Really now?"

* * *

"Hmm, two-percent? Or one-percent? Two-percent, or one-percent? Two-percent...and one-percent? One-percent..or two-percent?" Donald muttered to himself over and over again, hand hovering over both jugs.

He kept asking himself the same question because he wasn't sure which type of milk to get, to him they were all the same, but he couldn't for the life of him remember if Daisy had told him to get a specific kind.

He removed both jugs from their places in the frozen storage and balanced them in his hands. One was slim, the other was one of those fat jugs.

"Oh fuck it, I'll just get both." he mumbled, and threw them both into the cart.

As he closed the shelf door, he jumped back in fright. Someone was hiding behind the fridge door, and was watching him the entire time he went about his milk debate. Needless to say, he was both frightened, and terrified by who it was.

"Jesus christ, it's you!" Donald held his hands in front of him, attempting to use them as a make-shift shield.

"Hey Donald! How are you this morning?" Geoff greeted with a smile, he held out a hand, but Donald slapped it away. This man was officially the most genuine, kindest stalker he had ever known or ever will known.

"W-..Why are you here? ! Why do you keep following me everywhere? ! I'll give you anything, I'll give you my money, my car, my _girl. _Fuck I-I'll even sell my soul to you if that means you'd go away!"

Geoff just innocently shrugged, like the entire backlash hadn't even affected him at all, "I just wanted to talk, that's all, maybe offer you a proposition."

"Proposition, for what?"

"To get our jobs back! You didn't call me with the business card yesterday so I assumed you lost it, so I hacked a few resources thanks to a reliable bunch of people I'm in cahoots with, and they told me where you lived!"

"You what now?" was Donald's quick and blunt response.

"I know right? They also gave me your home-phone, your cell-phone, your social security number, your e-mail, and for some reason, your mother's maiden name!"

Donald tried walking away from him to the cash register at the front of the store, but Geoff only took it as an invitation to continue their conversation, "Why do you keep terrorizing me? !"

"Terrorize you? Don't blame me, blame the fellas who put a tracking chip on you!" Donald blinked, and looked at him hysterically.

"I-I Pfft-what now? !"

By now the two were at the register, Donald paid for the jugs and went on his way, but Geoff insisted on following him.

"It's never too late to accept Donald! Sooner or later in no time we'll both be back at the office working and theoretically producing supposedly authentic literature for today's unintelligent public! Your credit card number tells me everything!"

"Uhh, excuse me? !" Donald exclaimed, as his powerwalked increased in speed.

He managed to get away from Geoff and return to the comfort of his apartment, but his words still lingered in his mind about work. The black-haired menace would be back soon, and he would only be trying harder to ensure that he assist him in helping get their jobs back.

Donald took out the business card that Geoff had offered him yesterday, it was the first time he looked at it ever since he presented it to him, and even then, he didn't even bother to give it a full scan.

After seconds of contemplating, Donald ripped the card up in two, "Who am I trying to fool? I can live without him leeching off my success!"

The five missed calls he received on his cell _and _home phone that day begged to differ.

* * *

**Date I started writing this chapter: July 28th, 2012**

**Date I finished writing this chapter: August 14th, 2012**

**Alright, chapters done! Please review! I love reading them ^^" This one took me a while, but it is what it is. I look forward to writing the next one, because the schtick really hits the fan there. Mickey gets more points and Donald's stress wears down some more joints! Geoff increases his battle tactics, and more!**


	8. Computer Integrated Manufacturing

**Chapter eight, still going strong with zero percent hate! Alright alright, no more rhymes. I promise! Let's talk to our reviewers and then get down to business, the plot is thickening, so let's make it quick!**

**Elementair: It's in the KH section for a reason. The KH characters are characters within Donald's stories, and while they don't seem as important at the moment, they will gain much more prominence in the coming chapters. Give it some time, huh? ^^" I knew that if I posted it in the Disney section that some people would ask me to re-direct here due to the mention of KH references. So I just decided to cross that bridge instead of waiting for it to come, heh! Also, have you -seen- that archive? Littered with Disney Princess scum.**

**Mighty Agamemnon: Ha! Well if you do happen to encounter a midget someday, I'd love to hear the tale. Don can't run from Geoff forever, he's going to have to give in one day.**

**A Story In The End: Thank you for giving me a chance! Writing Disney-based Kingdom Hearts fics is one of my hobbies, if you liked it, I recommend you to read my others, I hope you love the other chapters as much as you did the first!**

**With that done, let's continue to the story! Enjoy and don't forget to review when you're done! Just like the previous chapter, this one focuses more on Mickey's side of the story than Donald's. Though Donald will get his fair share of the spotlight in smaller doses.**

**Word Count: 3740 words.**

* * *

Computer Integrated Manufacturing

_A term used for describing a high level of automation in a manufacturing enterprise._

Mickey's chin was currently finding shelter within the spine-damaging comfort that was his palm. If the day before was considered a harsh form of relentless sodomy, then today would have to be relentless sodomy with a gag and blindfold included. Maybe he was overthinking it, and to any other person, that would exactly be the case, considering Mickey's zoned-out attention span and lack of working willpower, it's easy to see that even the most simplest of jobs would be lost on such on a frail, fragile, flamboyant individual.

What a fucking weirdo.

"Man,_ I feel...I feel...not __**baked**__, but...tired. Like I drank something groan-inducing a few hours ago-"_

It was then that Mickey remembered the glass of lemon juice he had been dared to drink.

_"Oh yeah... that makes sense. It's only natural that something as sour as that would make me lose all of my energy in like, ten minutes or something."_

Mickey retreated into his arm to cough, after doing so, he took a double-take to examine just what he had coughed out.

A seed.

_"She needs a better juicer. One that doesn't allow big, crotchety, choky seeds to get deposited into the juice pool."_

About now, he would have had some detailed imagery about his thoughts, but the juice's after-effects had plowed through him so bad that whatever imaginative creativity in his brain was now gone.

Mickey looked around, he needed something to wake him up, something to get that unique-absurd spark back in him, something that would just give him a big wake-up slap. He didn't want to show up for his "Social Interaction Mentoring Session" looking notably tired.

Unfortunately, Mickey couldn't think of a way out of this, which resulted in the only logical way to solve this conundrum. _Call Donald repeatedly. _

And with little to no thought about what Donald was doing, or his feelings on the subject, he called him.

_"Mick, what the hell? This better be quick. I'm driving, and I'm pretty sure a school zone is just around the corner. You know those recent laws, right?"_

"Yeah, I do know those "recent" laws, _you're _the one who told me about them in the first place. B-but that's not the point! I need your help, and I need it now, so, drive slower!"

Donald narrowed his eyes at the tone of his voice, it sounded distressed, but also kind of calm at the same time. He wondered if there was a word for that, _"Are...Are you **baked** again? Mick, how could you? I thought I got you off of that!"_

Mickey shifted his eyes, making sure none of the patrons near him were listening, "Well to be honest, that cat left it's corral like, the day after you got me off of that. Still. Not the point, what is the point is that I feel relaxed!"

_"Great! I'm fucking relieved. Normal you is already too goddamn much for me to handle, this slower change of pace is bound to shut up that cacophonous tone of yours.-"_

"No, enough of that college-level vocabulary of yours! This is some serious jizz-jazz, the reason I feel so relaxed is because I did something completely retarded, something you'll probably laugh at."

_"I laugh at anything bad that happens to you."_

"I didn't need to know that."

_"Eh, it kills time. Please remember that you **did** tell me to drive slow, and a slow driver can only drive so far. Especially when, oh, I don't know, his apartment is like a block away!"_

"There's that pissed-off attitude again. It doesn't do anything to our back-and-forth banters, so you should stop trying too hard."

_"...What do you want?"_

"Oh, well, it's nothing really." he started, pouting his lips and rolling his eyes in an attempt to put on an innocent act. Regardless of the fact that Donald wasn't even able to see it, "I drank an entire cup of lemon juice-"

_"Congratulations. I should care, why?"_

"Well, long story short, I think it made me tired, I don't feel so in the groove at the moment, I need you to tell me what to do to get me to wake up!"

Donald pinched the bridge of his nose, _"By any chance, are you retarded? I'm genuinely curious this time, I'm not just asking to mock you."_

Mickey's eyes widened at the sudden change of tone, he certainly wasn't expecting something so insulting, "Well, no, why would I think that? I mean, I wouldn't just go around calling myself retarded because that's retarded in itself!"

_"Alright, good, looks like some of my smarts **have** found their way onto you after all. Too bad it's not enough, now,let me put this in the simplest form I can possible: You are asking for help about you wanting to wake up and get hyper-shit-active again,** in a Starbucks.**"_

Mickey blinked, "Oh..."

_"Solution time, and listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once, maybe **twice** if you bitch-whine enough: Buy your own damn cup of coffee, drink it, splash it in your face, go to the bathroom and stick your dick in it, any three is guaranteed to wake you up in seconds. What kind of dumbass has to phone his friend up for simple shit like that?"_

Mickey blinked again, most of the stuff Donald was rambling on about was going in one ear, and out the next, "You mean _best_ friend."

He just so happened to hammer down on the least-important factor.

_"Yeah, sure. Whatever."_

Mickey figured that this was the perfect time and scenario to tell Donald something that he had been meaning to tell him for a while.

"Y'know Don, I think you would have more friends if you didn't have a possum up your anus all the time..."

Donald didn't seem to comprehend that, or at least he didn't take it too kindly, _"What's **that** supposed to mean?"_

"You don't try hard enough?"

_"Try hard enough for_ **what?**_"_

"Uhh, nothing!" cracking under pressure to avoid a rage fest? What a logical way to weasel out of that one, "You just...you just. Erm-"

_"Are you trying to imply that I'm lonely? That sounds horribly __cliché. I have people too y'know, it's just that they happen to be mutual friends of yours too."_

"Well, yeah, I guess that's true. I mean, sorry about that! You still have us all, and your family, right?-"

Donald chose to stop him right then and there before things got too hasty, _"Sure... Call me if you find yourself in anymore obvious conundrums, bye."_

Click.

Despite Mickey's employment, he wasn't granted any slack when it came to buying a cup, especially since he had only just joined the day before. Regardless, he still spent an overpriced amount on the measly cup. After "waterfalling" the entirety of the cup's contents, (Save for a few pauses due to throat scalding.) Mickey felt ready to begin the day anew all over again.

* * *

Unfortunately, others weren't so lucky. This afternoon, Geoff was one of those people. Following his little escapade with Donald that morning at the grocery store, (In which he realized that in retrospect, he probably let out more information than needed.) he left his house retreated into his car, trying out one last minute scheme to get his job back.

Truth be told, he actually loved his job, he wouldn't be frequently trying to recruit Donald to help him get it back if that wasn't the case. And he found it a shame that he had to resort to fibbing in order to just talk to him.

His ten missed calls proved that even that wasn't working.

Despite his claims to the other man, he actually didn't have any complicated plans in store to get back his top spot on the selling charts. Instead, he had to resort to one person who he thought was sure to get him back in business.

Perhaps.

Geoff walked into the building, disregarding the restraining order given to him just a day before. If he made quick time, he would probably be able to make progress before promptly getting thrown out.

He looked around, taking in his familiar surroundings with a smile. The cold air, the lack of music, the cacophonous sounds that came from the clicks and clacks of various office materials, and the quiet discussions going on between the lobby clerks and their customers waiting on the other end of the telephone line. Feeding them complaints about every little thing, no matter how ridiculous the concern was.

One of these underpaid clerks was just the person Geoff was searching for.

He placed an arm over his forehead, making sure that no one was looking at him. When the coast was clear, he draped it over his face. A sort-of "transformation" phase for him to "smug up" and rid of his sleep deprived appearance.

An oblivious person would wonder why he was doing all this, while an observant one would dismiss it as something that everyone should have picked up on.

With his face now five percent less of an abomination than it was mere seconds ago, Geoff was ready to continue setting his plan in motion. Should it prove successful, not only would he have his job back, but he would also be making significant process in... other aromatic areas.

"Next." droned the bored woman behind the desk, though her expression changed the moment she saw Geoff standing in front of her.

"M-mr. Farme- I mean, Geoff! What are you- I thought- You have a restraining order, what are you doing here?!" Clarabelle stuttered out, still caught in the moment.

Geoff made a bunch of hushing noises and hand motions, trying to get her to be quiet, "Shh. I know that! It's just, I need to get back here. I mean, without this place, I'm pretty much nothing! You gotta help me, Clara, talk to them, please?"

"I don't like the situation as much as you either Geoff, but that's business. Your reputation is pretty much tarnished now after that whole incident with that arrogant ghostwriter of yours, I think it's going to be a long while before you'll be able to get back into shape. You'll probably have to wait until the public forgets about your whole little fiasco, and it's not just you who's receiving the bad end of the stick, the entire company is suffering!"

"Wait,_ what?_"

Clarabelle nodded, showing him a clipboard, "Well of course! Because of that stunt that guy pulled, all of a sudden tabloids are all over the place, forcing themselves in to learn the truth! I'm surprised you even managed to get in without being thrown out!"

Geoff looked around to survey his surroundings for a second time. The sudden abundance of news vans was nothing short of surprising.

"Well, how long do you think it'll take for people to forget about me?" he asked.

She placed a hand to her chin, her pupils looking upward as she thought, "Honestly?"

"Honestly." he answered.

"About a few years, maybe three at the most. See Geoff, this isn't actually a bad thing! These days, the public eye's always attracted to the latest thing, then that thing becomes popular for a while before dropping off the chart in favor of some other lovely fad, like say... how the importance of "swag" took over the temporary coolness of "planking"."

Geoff sighed, frowning. Clarabelle noticed this and gave him a warm smile, "It's okay, you were popular for long enough already, chances are if none of this ever happened you would still be over-topped come next month. Just look at the vast amount of vampiric novels coming out, our deceptively fresh corporation can't compete with that!"

"Well, alright then. I'll just go then..." Geoff heaved another sigh and headed for the exit, "Oh! And um, _Goofy?_"

Geoff turned around, that sure took him by surprise, "Take care of yourself, alright?"

He nodded, nabbed a donut from the "**_Take_ _One"_ **box, and walked out. Thoughts of popularity, cliches, and vampiric abominations in his mind.

* * *

"He called you _how many _times?" Daisy asked, observing Donald tinker around with his phone. A sight deemed more interesting than the TV in front of them, if not the lesser of two evils.

Daytime television is an awful thing.

"Enough times to make me turn the damn thing off. Jesus, what the hell is the guy's problem? I understand that he wants me back to write for him, but for what? If I do, my full potential just continues to get held back. It's only a win-win for him, what a_ cunt destroyer._"

"You know he's just going to keep trying and trying to make things right until you agree with him, right? He's sounds like a persistent man, he's not going to give up without a fight." Donald groaned, he knew she was right. Geoff had just about every slick of info on him, he could no longer run, he could no longer hide. He lost those chances the second the guy found out his social security number.

"Do you think he'd leave me alone if I changed my name and moved?"

"No, not at all. You could place a restraining order!... But that would be like putting a band-aid on a broken bone. It won't really help considering he has _other_ methods of contacting you."

Donald thought out the scenario, "You're right, he does have too much dough on me, and they are _kind of_ hard to enforce... Wait, wait, what the hell am I saying?! I can just report him to the authorities and get the loon imprisoned no problem! I'm sure the warden and his team of touch-buddies would enjoy having a guy who _actually has fun_ in chipping away at rocks with a pickaxe."

Daisy took his phone, scrolling through the amount of intentionally missed calls, "Don't you think you're going overboard with that? He's just a measly fellow caught up in the wrong crowd that wants to be your "bro" and help you. Yet you're pushing him away with no regards for how he feels."

"No, I'm not going overboard. He's a crazed, psychotic lunatic attention whore who only cares about how much money he makes off of scarred writers who work in cubicle offices like a pack of wild drones. Like me!"

She didn't take his over-dramatic performance well, "Like I said, overboard. Your methods and reasoning are extremely flawed."

"Hey, hey, I thought you were supposed to be on my side!" Donald complained.

"I don't remember ever saying that. All I'm saying is that you should re-think your actions. Maybe _you're _the loon in the situation this time."

Donald crossed his arms, sighed, and scowled as he put the idea into consideration.

"Maybe."

The two talked for a while longer until Daisy left, leaving Donald to sulk in the couch in his living room. As he did, he did exactly what she advised him to do. Re-think the situation over.

Past memories flooded his mind, with the pinnacle being his reaction to Geoff's consistent perseverance. He even remembered the stupid little sound effect he made as he forced the card into his pocket.

_Boop._

_Boop._

_Boop._

_Boop._

_Boop._

The obnoxious sound would forever haunt him, "So I told him to fuck off. Who cares? He was insane!" Donald said to no one in particular, aside from the ceiling.

Of course, the ceiling is a being incapable of speech, so it didn't respond. Though the silence given to him made him believe a cold shoulder was being turned on him, "What? No, I don't think I'm wrong. I wanted to get out of it because I was ignored, overlooked, never paid any attention! I got Mickey working in order to stop his laziness and get the rent paid off, what's so wrong with that?"

The ceiling continued to stare back down at him.

"Selfish? Not at all. I thought this over, there's more benefits for me than cons, and once I get back on track. Then we'll be in business, alright?"

He had hoped for a more verbal response this time, again, _hope._ All he got was more disappointed looks.

"Stop that, dammit. You're making me feel bad! This wasn't just for me, this was a group effort! I'm right, I'm right and you know you... you freaking... ceiling..." despite his arguments, the ceiling had somehow prevailed. Donald closed his mouth, stopping another witty retort before it come out.

It had hit him like a ton of bricks, everything he had done up until now was all for him, therefore making every single consequence from those actions also his fault. Donald sat up, looking at the TV. He faintly saw his reflection in the glare.

He was the arrogant one who got tired of working, he was the one who snapped from jealousy, he was the one who got Geoff and him fired, he was the one who got Mickey employed as a counter, he was the one closing everyone off and acting like a self-focused jackass, and he was the only one doing nothing to fix it.

And now he just told off the only guy willing to help him fix the error of his ways.

Donald's eyes widened, and he looked up, "Damn, I have to speak to the ceiling more often..."

He wished he had kept the business card.

* * *

Later that evening, Mickey found himself in a much lighter situation. A situation that didn't have him conversing with inanimate objects, rather, a situation that involved him helping a girl.

A cute girl to be precise, then again, that was just his opinion.

He strolled aside her, the two making their way through the trail, "Now see, the only way for me to help you stop being a special snowflake and start being a modern everyday woman is to begin interaction with others!"

"A special snowflake?"

"Precisely. You see, people in similar situations like you like to believe that they're the _only_ people in the world with a shit life. But no, it turns out life is shit as is, and everyone is just as miserable as everyone else, our goal is to try to help you to realize that, and use it to your full potential. Then and only then, can you act like a normal person who isn't considered a nervous wreck! Understand?"

Minnie nodded, "But what exactly is so bad about being a special snowflake?"

"Not too many people today seem to like it. They think it's "cliche"."

"Cliche?"

"Yeah, it kinda pisses them off because the snowflake feels like they have to get the _entire_ world to know that their life is a depressing pile of shit. Oh, and uh, Don told me that sometimes they're half-demon, but don't source me on that." **[1]**

"Half-demon...?"

"Don't source me on it! It's just something Don told me!"

With the description of Minnie's "situation" diagnosed, Mickey felt it was time to move on, "Now to begin our lesson. And what better way to do it then start it with the sexy guy right next to you, as in yours truly!"

"I think you give yourself too much credit." Minnie retorted, "Alrighty, so what do I have to do?"

"Easy peasy, sick-and-measly. All we have to do is get to know each other better, that way you can get a feel on how it is to talk to someone else. Ooh! We can pretend you're a social butterfly who's going to spread her wings and fly for the first time!" Mickey flapped his hands to emphasize the imagery, "Ah...But we need a name for your species..."

Minnie was about to speak to suggest a name, but Mickey beat her to the punch.

"Got it! _Bowfeti Erectus_!" **[2]**

She gave him a confused look, "_Bowfeti Erectus_?..."**  
**

"_Bowfeti Erectus._"

"What does that even mean?" she asked.

Mickey rolled his eyes around aimlessly, "Ahh, nothing you need to worry yourself about. But enough stalling, let's get this over with. First off," Mickey paused. He was trying to form a subject, "_Something casual, something casual, something casual..._" he whispered.

"Ah! Got it! What's your favorite pet?"

"Cat, no doubt." she answered, "I'm a sucker for their meows, they just sound so adorable!"

As they continued to walk through the park, Mickey wrote down tidbits of the conversation, Minnie tried to peek over his shoulder to get a glance, but he kept easing away from her.

"Uh-uh, no peeking yet! Now, I'm going to do a back-and-forth banter with you, you have to answer every question truthfully so I can write down more progress on this report. Ready?"

"I don't think we'd be here if I wasn't."

"Right. Let's do this! Quick, _peanut butter or jelly?_"

"Jelly!"

"Elephants or donkeys?"

"Both!"

"You're stranded on a tropical island with no one but a limited supply of food! What is that food?"

"Uh, uhh, uh, watermelon!"

"Are you sure?"

"Sure! Keep going!"

"Hats or caps?"

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"No! Soup or salad?"

"Soup!"

"_Boxers or briefs- _Wait, wait, sorry, sorry! Forgot, that one is a male-only question, female-question time! Do you enjoy the cooch-cooch?"

"The-what-now?!"

"Too far? Alright, alright, next question. You go to an ice cream parlor, guy gives you ice cream, but wait! What's it in, a cone or a cup?"

"Depends on the situation!"

"_Pancakes or waffles?_"

"Trick question, the true answer is French toast."

Mickey checked off the final item on the list with a smile, "Alright. Congrats, based on your answers, I rank you an eight out of ten!"

Minnie grabbed the clipboard, eying her results, "Is that good?"

"Well, it's better than what Don got." Mickey answered, folding his arms behind his neck to provide comfort, "He got such an embarrassing score."

"Hm? What was it?"

"Eh, just a two. That's kind of a problem I've been having with him lately..." Mickey's sentence trailed off. Causing Minnie to look up at him, "Huh? What about him?"

"It's just, I think the reason why he's so lonely and secluded is because-"

"He's a dick to everyone?"

"Yeah! Took the words right out of my mouth! You know, we should try helping him one day."

She nodded, and the two continued their stroll. Blissfully unaware of the many realizations and _feels _that had hit Donald like a ton of bricks meanwhile.

* * *

**Date I Started Writing This Chapter: August 19th, 2012**  
**Date I Finished Writing This Chapter: September 7th, 2012**

**And so ends chapter eight! I apologize for the long wait, but classes have started up again. Don't worry though, I'll keep writing! I always get at least one hour of time to write each day. ^^"**

**Please don't forget to review! I enjoy reading them, thanks again! Next chapter, the tables have turned as Donald faces facts, and the Mickey-Minnie dynamic grows a tad more.**

**See ya real soon!**


	9. Device Driver

**We're back in business! Sorry for the break guys, but y'know, I've been around and stuff. Don't worry though, I intend on finishing this story before moving onto anything else. Before we go into chapter nine, let's talk to a reviewer first.**

**Mighty Agamemnon: Thank you for reviewing! Yeah, Donald can be seen as both in the right_ and_ in the wrong. It just depends on who's point of view you're looking at it from. The thing is, Donald doesn't seem to care for anyone's point of view other than his own.**

**With that out of the way, let's continue to the story! (By the by, thanks to the guys at "/khg/" for all your feedback and support!)**

**Word Count: 3512 words.**

* * *

Device Driver

Alternative Title: In Which Donald Turns Into A Desperate, Desolate Neckbeard

_A software component that permits a computer system to communicate with a device._

Geoff was true to his word, he didn't contact Donald for weeks.

The situation was also vice versa, Donald found himself unable to contact Geoff as well. He had done all he could with the business card when it came to repairing it, but the damage he had done was far too great to restore it to its former glory.

He tried the phone book, but Farmer was still publicly recognized as a celebrity, fraud or not, and thus did not have a personal number listed.

Thanksgiving was great, by the way.

It was the ninth of December when Donald woke up that morning. You know, because all great hiatuses begin in bed, right?

Donald's actions had taken a toil on his mental health, and as a result built up a jar full of mixed emotions. The most prominent of which being his anger.

In order to ventilate such distress, Donald sat at his computer, and began typing away a realistically impossible scenario, utilizing not even the slightest bit of his full writing potential. Because of that, he was able to get away with even the most stupidest of grammar mishaps, and the most vulgar of references.

* * *

Untitled Fantasy Ventilation

_"Beeehoooold the wizaaaaarrrd,"_

_"Beeeeewaaaaaare his pooooowerrrrrrr!"_

_"In a land forsaken to be cursed by a bunch of nonsensical mythical creatures..."_

At this point, Donald began to imagine excessively heavy metal music going on within the innards of his mind. If only to just raise the badass factor.

_"There was once a bitchin' wizard!"_

_"Who got all the girls in the yard!"_

_"He had them all suck him up,"_

_"'Cause that's what got him hard!"_

_"Whenever the Realm of Light was in distress,"_

_"The generic citizens need no fear!"_

_"For the wizard would not stop fighting, even after finishing a game of chess!"_

Donald smiled. He didn't have a single clue why, but for some reason. He liked that line. Maybe it was the delivery?

_"A flurry of Neoshadows try to stage an attack!"_

_"But the wizard doesn't give 'em any flack!"_

_"He swipes the Keyblade once, but still kicks their darkness-inflated ass!"_

_"The Dragoon believes he can win!"_

_"Only to be, kicked, in the shin!"_

_"Striving to protect the many worlds!"_

_"The Axeflapper interrupts his girls!"_

_"He gives the emotion a kick filled with justice and hardness!"_

_"Re-assuring that the world not be conquered by typical darkness!"_

_"The Tyranto Rex tries his luck!"_

_"That monster soon finds himself fucked!"_

* * *

Donald would have written more than just that. (Honestly, from the way it looked like, it was starting to turn into a song more than a story...) Had it not been for Mickey interrupting his almost-robotic typing.

"Uhh Don, what are you doing?"

Donald snapped out of his trance, trembling from Mickey's interruption.

"Don't do that!"

"Don't do what?"

"You could have killed me!"

Mickey scratched his head, "Pretty sure I was talking at room volume..."

"Well, well...well...You could have spilt my coffee! I could have burnt myself or, or even worse, short-circuit this laptop!"

Mickey looked into the coffee mug, finding nothing but a few its, bits, of liquid, "Don. That mug's empty. Wait, wait a minute, have you been up all night?"

"W-What?! No! You're crazy! Of course not! I, I got my eight hours and more! What is this, twenty questions?! You're going to ask me a bunch of stuff and keep me from doing work? You're going to ask me if I fucked Mc'Mom next?!"

Mickey held his hands up, surprised by his roomie's sudden defensive behavior, "No, not at all! The whole reason you're even home in the first place is because you don't want to work!...Least not injustice work. It's just, your eyes, they look kinda...bloodshot. Are you feeling alright?"

"Never better!" Donald responded with a few twitches of his right eye.

Mickey narrowed his eyes, scratching his chin, "I don't believe you. Usually if you stay up late, your sanity is kept in check, and your eyes don't look like they've sunk three meters into your head."

"Since when did you become so judgmental?!"

"I'm not judgmental, I'm just pointing out the obvious! And Captain Motherfucking Obvious says that you've gone bonkers! Now, I'm not a therapist, but I suggest that the best thing for you to do now is for you to take a long, relaxing, walk in the woods."

Donald twitched rapidly, the red streaks surrounding his pupils contrasting against the purple circles under his eyes, "Do you know what happens in the woods during the winter?"

"See, now you're acting like me!" Mickey walked over to him, looking at the laptop, "Get up, stop writing this-,"

He paused briefly to read what Donald wrote down.

"_The Wizard inserts his godly girth into the golden mine and penetrates it with the hopes of achieving the glory of discovering the most hidden gem- _Jesus christ, it's all trash talk! What are you doing, Don, this isn't you!"

"I'd probably be better off if I was. Listen Mick, suppose I _didn't_ get eight hours of glorious sleep-dreaming. Now, if I told you just _why_that's so, do you promise not to tell anyone?"

Mickey ran a finger over his mouth, "Have I ever disappointed you?"

That was a question that didn't even need to be acknowledged with a response.

"Fine. Mick, short story because I know your disappointingly low attention spam; I need to find Geoff!"

"You need to _who and the what now?_"

Donald muttered a few words, causing Mickey to make a face of confusion. He didn't hear that at all, "Huh? Say that again."

Donald crossed his arms, scowling in the other direction. He repeated his words, but the volume still wasn't enough to get through to Mickey, "Yeah, you're still as quiet as fuck. Say that again, and say it loud!"

"I was wrong."

"One more time?"

"Are you teasing me?"

"No. Say that again."

"I was wrong."

"You were _what?_"

Donald grabbed his friend's shoulders, staring at him helplessly, "I was wrong! I was wrong, for once I was wrong, okay?! I messed up bad Mick, and now I can't fix it because a few weeks ago I convinced Geoff to never speak to me again! I've tried so hard to get over it, but I can't accept failure, you have to help me Mick! Living in relaxation is _suffering!_"

"Relaxation is suffering? Holy crap. You're serious aren't you?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm serious, come on, help! I've tried everything, but all my sources aren't helping because they're dated and happen to follow the belief that Farmer's still some rich hack!"

"Couldn't you have tried the internet?"

"No dice. It was like one of the first things I tried. I even looked at the goddamn phonebook! What kinda person still uses those things?!"

Mickey scratched his chin again, trying to think of a plan. Of course, Mickey's plans almost always guaranteed some sort of catch.

"Have you tried an imageboard?"

"An image-_what?_"

"A board full of anonymous users who have the potential to help you! Each have their own individual unique sources, and one of them is just _bound_ to have the information you're looking for!" Mickey said with a smile, sitting down and swiping the laptop away, "Alrighty! Now to close out this literature smut and get to the cesspool of internet cancer!"

_Do you wish to save this document before closing?_

Mickey was about to maneuver the mouse to the "_No._" option when Donald suddenly swiped the mouse and clicked the "_Yes._" option._  
_

"You can't be freaking serious..." muttered Mickey.

"Hmm, I just realized I didn't name it yet...Ah, I'll just leave a placeholder name for now."

After saving the document as _BitchesAndBigMacs. txt _Mickey took back control of the computer, "Alright, there's a bunch of imageboards to choose from, which one do you think will be able to help us?" Mickey asked, typing into the address bar.

"I've heard about these kinda places, aren't they all cancerous?"

"Cancerous is a buzzword these days, now since you seem kinda in a rush, we'll try the "_Anything Goes_" board rather than the "_Literature_" board.

Upon clicking the "_AG_" board, Donald wasn't surprised to see a brimming cesspool of eye-boiling immature content, causing him to question whether this was just an excuse for Mickey to check up on his "_updates_". (As he called them.)

And it was, partially.

"Why is there an entire thread dedicated to pubic hair shaving?"

"Uhh, yeah...Let's just scroll over that." Mickey hastily replied, moving the mouse over to the "_New Thread_" section, "Alright. So how do you want to type this out?"

Donald thought about it, and he was going to plan on starting it out intelligently with vague reasoning for his motives, but then he took the attention spam of the users into considerations.

He instead substituted for something less-than-embarrassing.

Mickey typed in an extremely crude message requesting for any tidbits of information on Geoff, the crude format was due to Mickey's reasoning, for he told Donald that typing style is what grabs the user's attention the most. Donald didn't understand such logic, but he went with it.

Although he would be lying if he said he enjoyed such word substitutions like "_plz_".

You gotta do what you gotta do.

* * *

Donald was constantly checking the computer, at the oddest of intervals too. Sometimes second after second, other times minute after minute, and on one occasion, he took a five hour break to preserve the potential of reading new posts.

Their thread only got a few replies, none of them being much helpful, or any help at all. It was astounding how he even got to see some blatantly inappropriate indecencies before getting a passable response. After one would be pruned by the active moderators, Donald would then hastily make another, this process would end up spilling into the next few days.

"This is insane, Mick! I've been at this computer for days and I've gotten no useful information from these guys! For god fucking sakes, I got a leaked picture of Geoff's _freaking_ _whopper_ of a _penis_ out of all the stuff I could have asked for! Now not only am I mentally scarred, I'm going to have to brush my eyes,_ my_ _eyes!_"

Mickey stood from afar, watching him ventilate his frustration again, "Well to be fair, I didn't guarantee that this would work. Just because they're anonymous people doesn't mean they're all based dudley-do-rights."

"You never guaranteed that it wouldn't work either."

"True, true. How long have you been at the computer anyway? I swear we made that thread like in the morning, it's six now. Have you even showered yet? Have you even showered _period?!_"

Donald gave it some good thought, having realized that he has been at the table longer than what was good for one's health, "Uh...What day is it then?"

"Friday."

"Date?"

"The fourteenth."

"You mean it's not the ninth?"

"No Don, it's not, that was a Sunday, and a week ago."

"Then no."

It took five more seconds of silence until Mickey continued their conversation.

"So...Shouldn't you be go doing that?"

Donald stopped typing, looking up at the ceiling. After some much-needed thinking, he sighed, "I guess."

Mickey breathed a sigh of relief, but that relaxation subsided once Donald revealed his true motives.

"Once our thread gets pruned."

Having to deal with the horrible truth that Donald was turning into the grimiest of neckbeards, Mickey left the living room, "You know, you're slowly de-volving into the worst kind of person."

"All thanks to you!" he retorted.

Mickey continued on his way to his room, now fully aware of what the _drastic_ in_ drastic measures_ really meant. He grabbed the phone and dialed in a number, hoping to talk to someone who wasn't swimming in a sea of insanity. Someone as infallible, phlegmatic, but not as uproarious, as he was.

"Minnie?"

_"Mm?"_ replied a voice on the other line.

"We have a problem-" Mickey began to start, but he was promptly interrupted by the girl.

_"Oh god, oh god! This is it, this is "the" call isn't it?! I have the Big-C don't I!?"_

"Ugh, don't tell me your delirious now too?"

_"Aww, you're actually serious? Well I'll stop playing around then, okay, tell me what's up!"_

Over the few weeks that have gone by since their first real encounter, Mickey and Minnie's dynamic was constantly growing. To the point where Mickey questioned whether a woman could be a much better friend than his own roommate.

At the moment, their dynamic was mostly mutual. To what extent was currently unknown, as it was frequently shifting around.

"I think Don's gone insane."

_"Is this the __part where I ask you to tell me something I don't know?"_

"No! It's not just that! I'm not talking about pessimistic-sarcastic-over-the-edge Donald, I'm talking obsessed-crazy-complete bonkers Donald! He doesn't want to admit that he's wrong, so he's doing all he can to make everything right, and all he's done is spent the entire day at the computer staring at unwanted leaked photos of Geoff Farmer's penis! And he doesn't even care about his hygiene, that's like, unlike him at all!"

_"Hm, I guess that is bad, but what do you want me to do about it?"_

"You mean "us"-"

_"Us?"_

"Us. I work terrible alone, you should know this by now."

He heard her sigh over the line, _"Ugh, fine. But what do you want us to do about it then? His sights seem so set on finding that guy..."_

Mickey didn't hesitate to reveal his plan, "We do the _one_ thing that he was too filled with pride to even think of doing! That being said, you wouldn't happen to have-_..._"

His following words came out as a string of mumbles, even though he knew no one else in the apartment could hear him.

Better to be safe than sorry.

* * *

That exact plan wasn't as complex as Mickey would have hoped, but the accuracy of its success was as good as any others, so he couldn't really complain.

Donald entered the living room after a small break to buy some donuts, his first time going outside since his seemingly infinite "monitoring time" began. He was surprised to find that the lights were off, and that his computer was shut, even after he made sure to leave it on before leaving.

"What the..." said Donald suspiciously, narrowing his lifeless sunken eyes.

The lights suddenly flickered on, revealing Mickey sitting at the couch, arms and legs crossed.

"O-Oh! Fuck! Mick, I-I uh, didn't see you there!"

"Don, this is an intervention. And I would have liked to have more people in attendance to raise potency, but Minnie had to get some groceries and everyone else didn't really care. So it's just me."

"Intervention?! Intervention for what?!"

"Your obsession with locating Geoff to prove that you can revert everything back to status quo is getting in the way of your infinite relaxation! Plus, it's taking the worst toll on your hygiene, jesus, it's like a pig topped a cow in a sauna in here!"

"What does that imagery have to do with me? I'm just fixing what I screwed up!"

"In the most disturbing way possible, yes. See Don, you're what the articles on _Wikipedia _taught me about five minutes ago, you're a cold case example of- _wait for it-_ an overkiller!"

"_Overkiller?_"

"_Overkiller! _You don't want to admit you're wrong, so you're covering it up by trying to fix it. You don't _legitimately _feel bad, it's just an exaggerated ego check!"

Donald clasped his hands together, crossing one leg over the other, "How do you know that Mick?"

"There are more than six empty paper cups in this room. _Six!_ That doesn't sound like a lot, but it is! What are you doing with your life man?!"

"At the moment, my own form of relaxation, but don't worry Mick! I can fix it! I can fix us! I'll be back in the workforce in no time, and I can have my miserable life again, my miserable life that isn't as miserable at what it is now! It can be all right again!"

Mickey took a few steps back, finding the rambling to be a bit...out of tune, to say the least, "Alright, you've gone crazy. Thank goodness that I have a back-up plan for that. Anyhow, since I know I'm not going to be able to convince you to give this all up due to that _inflated-fucking-ego_, I decided to just take an alternative route. So I contacted Geoff _for you_."

"_W-What?!_ How did you- _How_ on Earth did you!?-"

"I contacted him on his official _Facebook_ page. It's not_ that_ hard man." Mickey quickly admitted with a hasty shrug, "How come you didn't do that in the first place?"

Donald sat there with a palm plastered to his chin, realization hitting him as he blankly stared at the wall. Feeling like the stupid one for the first time in a long while. Hours wasted, when the easiest damn alternative in the world could have been used, all the potential he could have done with himself in the meanwhile, again, wasted.

"I should probably go take a shower."

"You should."

To be fair though, he was never that fond of social networking.

* * *

Monday, the following day, was spent fixing the "minor" physical and grotesque damage done to Donald's person as a result of spending days glued to the monitor. At least, the first few hours were. The rest was spent on readying him for his upcoming scheduled meet with Geoff. Hopefully this one being more inviolate than the last.

Despite Mickey's obvious solution to that part of the predicament, he was no Einstein. There still remained the ordeal of actually convincing a supposed lunatic like Geoff to accept Donald's invitation to a partnership.

To Donald, it was more of a "treaty" than a partnership, but the principle still stood. Collaboration was going to be involved whether he liked it or not.

The afternoon began with Donald sitting at a patio table just outside Starbucks, sipping a drink and casually awaiting for Geoff to arrive. Mickey was inside the building, spending more time spying on his friend's progress than tending to his job requirements.

It's elementary that one doesn't live on a simple shit paycheck and hope that they live for another month in the comfort of their home, if their proposition fails to take off, then the two were forced to face that they would drown in a sea of their own troubles for the rest of their unnatural lives

It was startling imagery for a first-timer, to say the least.

Donald thought he would instantly break out and tell all to Geoff the second he arrived, but to his complete and utter shock, he didn't. He didn't even do so much as make a response.

So the next few seconds were spent as the two stupidly stared at each other with their hands clasped together for an unnecessary amount of time, apparently studying each other.

When the time came for one of the two goofballs to finally speak up, Geoff seized the opportunity with open arms.

"You called me here for what now?"

"Well, technically that was Mick-"

"But you _did_ want to speak with me, I know you did! Mickey said so, and gosh, if that's all you really wanted, you could have just asked! Instead of well, you know, overreacting and telling me to leave you alone and whatnot-"

"You stalked me in the supermarket while I was buying two jugs of indifferent milk. Of course I would overreact!"

"You're overreacting now!"

"I know I am!"

"And now you're causing a scene."

Donald shifted his eyes, finding himself being stared at by a handful of gossiping patrons.

His eyes found their way back to Geoff's, it was best to pretend those peeping toms didn't exist.

"Okay, so maybe I do feel remorse, suppose I do give this partnership the A-okay then, what diid you have in mind?"

That's was the thing though, Geoff didn't have_ anything_ in mind. It was unlike him, someone so organized and always prepared, to not have something planned. He was too busy focusing on getting this short-tempered dick to listen to him that he didn't plan anything for just this occasion!

It was extremely stupid in retrospect.

To be fair though, everyone has their days.

Geoff had little time for thinking, Donald was impatiently sitting in front of him, awaiting to hear what "grand master scheme" that the guy's been nagging at him about for weeks on end.

Imagine his face if he were to learn the truth.

Fearing that face, and his reaction his overall, whether it be good or bad, Geoff ultimately came up with something out of the blue and on the spot, using his conversation with Clarabelle earlier as a basis for that plot.

And upon hearing that unknowingly rushed plan, Donald's scowl turned upside-down.

* * *

******Date I Started Writing This Chapter: September 8th, 2012**  
**Date I Finished Writing This Chapter: October 27, 2012**

**Once again, apologies for that long wait. I got sidetracked by some other projects, hopefully that won't happen again. Also, happy Halloween everyone! I mean, well, it's two days away, but still, you get the point right?**

**Please don't forget to review! I enjoy reading them!**

**See ya real soon!**


	10. Bill of Materials

**Alright, alright, I feel back in tune with myself! Eh, you guys might not understand, but whatever. I just feel in the mood today. That being said, let's talk to our reviewers!**

**crazycarl364 (All reviews.): Thanks for reviewing! Yeah, sometimes the yaoi can get out of hand on the KH page. I suppose it doesn't bother me as much as you do, but the over-zealous amounts is still kinda kooky, don't you think? Ah, it was created by the Japs, so it's to be stereotypically expected. You do what you gotta do. Keep reading and thank you again!**

**Word Count: 3278 words.**

* * *

Bill of Materials

Alternative Title: The Life and Times of Chernie B.

_A list of components, ingredients, or materials needed to manufacture a product; the hierarchy of materials or components making up a product or subassembly including the proper ratios of quantities of each item._

"Alright, in order to pull this off, I'm going to need some assistance from some of the best people ever to walk the Earth!"

"I'll need a prestigious writer, a skilled computer technician, and a clever schemer able to get out of the most tightest of situations!"

Donald picked up all of the pictures that he had laid across the table, "Unfortunately, I don't think I know where I would even begin to get a hold of any of those people. So instead I have you guys!"

Mickey and Geoff looked at each other, and then back to Donald, "What? You mean us?" Mickey asked.

"Of course! Well, you two and _Chernabog,_ to be exact."

"_Chernabog?. . ._" Geoff cocked an eyebrow at the confusing name, prompting Donald to explain the origins of their unexpected fourth member.

"Yes! Now everyone, I want to introduce you Chernabog, the fourth member of our group that will round out our newly-formed _quartet_." Donald walked over to the third chair in the storeroom. He placed a hand on the chair's back, rocking it back and forth.

"But..._that's a broom, Don._" Mickey bluntly pointed out.

"No. It's Chernabog."

"No, I'm pretty damn sure that's a broom. That is a broom you're talking to, you placed a broom on a chair and you're pretending it's someone else."

"Please, this isn't just _any_broom! This is Chernabog, a malevolent demon transformed into an enchanted broom by the fantastical powers that be. He'll assist us with his cunningly cruel scheming ways." Donald patted the broom, only for it to tip over and fall to the floor.

Mickey raised a hand, and Donald nodded while placing Chernabog back on his chair, "Yes?"

"Is that another reference to that dumb _fantasy story_ you keep going on and on about?"

"Possibly. That being said, I'm sure Chernabog will make a delicious contribution to the quartet, as I hear that he has the power to summon robed demons from his chest, even while in his comatose broom-state."

"That actually sounds like it can be helpful!" Geoff noted to Mickey with a deductive index finger point, who was not at all convinced that the broom was in any way sentient.

"It's a broom. _A broom!_"

Geoff wagged his finger, "Not just _any_ broom, an _enchanted broom!_"_  
_

"Mick, I expected you of all people to be enchanted by the thought of a demon sealed within the confinements of a broom." Donald brought up as he rolled a chalkboard into the room.

Mickey crossed his arms, "I would have. If it wasn't a fucking broom of all things you could have chose!"

Donald merely shrugged in response, "It was the closest thing to my laptop. Now, enough dawdling though, we all came here for one and _one _reason only!-"

"We didn't come here on our own will, you told us to..." Mickey said as he raised his hand.

"Please, no questions or interruptions until _after_ the presentation!" Donald retrieved a broken antenna from his pocket, acting as if it were a pointing stick, "Now back to what I was saying. I've brought us all here so we could assemble a new quartet! I would have invited the girls too, but that was before I realized that a guys-only group would be so much better!"

Mickey and Geoff looked at each other nodding, Donald's imagination told him Chernabog was also in agreement.

Donald turned to the chalkboard, scrawling crude images resembling the four of them. As crude as crude can be, with sticks for bodies and big circular heads resembling their faces, and even then, only vaguely.

"Alright, time to give out some code names and other assorted labels. We'll start out with me, when we're on missions, please refer to me as "The Big D". I want _only_ positive feedback on this."

Geoff raised his hand, "Can we just say _Big D?_ Without the _The?_"

"Absolutely not. Any other comments or concerns?"

"_The Big D?_" Mickey asked.

"Yeah, D as in _Don_."

"Oh, oh! Yeah, yeah I get you now. Wait! Who said _you_ get to be the boss of this operation?!"

Donald turned back to the chalkboard, writing his name out in big letters. After doing that, he underlined the first three letters of his name harshly, "Because "_Don_" not only refers to Don_ald, _but also can be used as a label. As Don can also be used to refer to the leader of a crime syndicate, the leader of this one is me if only because of that tiny detail."

Mickey threw his arms in the air, "Alright, fine. I can't argue with that, can we move on?"

Donald nodded, tapping his broken antenna on Mickey's profile, "Attention to the group! While on missions, you will all refer to Mick from now on as "Sheriff Yum-Custard! Mick shall specialize as comedic relief, to make us feel good when we traverse through the many obstacles of failure. Sad, sad failure. Any bitch complaints?"

He wasn't at all surprised to see Mickey raising his hand, "Yeah, I do! Sheriff _Yum-Custard? _ That's a horrible name!"

"Says you. I was up all last night making up these names, so don't tell me what's good and what's not! Your codename went through about five or so prototypes before being accepted!"

Geoff turned to Mickey, "That's a reasonable amount of naming cycles you know."

"Can we just get on with it already?"

"Repeating questions now are we? Whatever you want then, _your majesty_." he said with a sigh. Donald turned to the chalkboard, tapping his broken antenna on Geoff's profile, "Please refer to Geoff from now on as _El Goofo_ or as they say in America, _Goofy._ He'll specialize in overly-dramatic and unnecessary schemes that I will approve of beforehand! He has no questions about it because Goofy's actually one of Geoff's nicknames. Now, onto Chernabog."

Donald underlined Chernabog's profile, "Chernabog will be referred to from now on as "_Destroyer of Worlds_", he'll be an Everyman that'll specialize in all of our talents plus a few of his own. I hear he's notorious for having great charisma! Aren't you, you sly dog?"

Chernabog just tipped over and fell again.

"Isn't he just a little flirt?!"

"I think you've finally lost it, Don." said Mickey.

"You can't lost what you never had, now moving on from codenames! I'd like to reiterate that the purpose of this group is to get back at the publishers by proving just how scandalous they are!...By creating an intentionally horrible novel!"

"Um, yeah, about that...What." Mickey was clearly confused about the whole plan.

"See, _Goofy_ here informed me about a purposely terrible novel collaboratively worked on by a group of writers in 2004 to exploit the true motives of fellow shit-publisher, _PublishAmerica_. This novel was called _Atlanta Nights _and was submitted in hopes that _PublishAmerica_ would publish it despite the fact that the story had numerous inane plot holes, obvious grammatical errors, character development contradictions, redundant gender changes, and an entire chapter typed up a computer using words that were already used in the chapters prior to it. Each chapter sans that one was written by a different person in the group with little information retained in-between chapters about what little the incoherent plot had to offer."

Mickey and _Goofy_ watched Donald pace back and forth in the storeroom as he explained his plan, "There was disorder in the book's chapter organization, with two chapter twelves, no chapter twenty-one, two chapters that were word for word identical to each other, and a chapter which revealed that all the previous nonsensical chapters had been a dream. Even though the book still continues for even more chapters!"

Mickey raised a hand, "Big D, this just sounds like something you learned about yesterday and then stole info bit by bit from _Wikipedia_."

Donald gave him a cold glare, "I'm going to give you a zero for today."

"A _what?_"

Donald snapped his fingers, "That reminds me! New announcement everyone, from now on, everyone gets a progress report featuring their respective grades on the missions they participated in. You also have a daily behavior grade, a grade in which Mick failed day one."

"Hey!"

"No complaints please. That takes points off of your daily behavior grade! Now that we're all on the same page-"

Mickey placed his chin in his hands, "I surely doubt that." he mumbled.

Hearing that, Donald paused so Mickey could let everyone hear what he desperately wanted to ventilate. After giving him another tired glare, Donald went on, "Next order of business. I want us to begin starting rough drafts on our own iteration of a terrible novel. _However,_ we have to make this novel _seem_ good by making it look like a cheap cash-in based off of _some other_ best-selling series. Now, this will require some research time, which I'm sure will also help in doubling up our bonding time."

Goofy raised his hand, "Gosh, I don't mean to interrupt _The_ Big D, but won't they kick us out and possibly throw us in the slammer if we send it in under any of our names?"

Donald snapped his fingers again, "Exactly! Which is why we're going to use a new pen name stemming from an individual that no party knows but us- _Chernabog_. Also known as, _Chernie B._"

"_Chernie B?_"

"Chernie B, yeah. Unless you have a better idea to make money other than cheating the literature business."

"We could have a bake sale..." Mickey suggested with a light shrug.

Donald shot him down immediately, "Absolutely not! That's even worse than the novel idea, which is perfect, flawless even! Nothing can top it-"

"Well shucks, how's about a bake sale, but with _cupcakes?_" Goofy suggested next.

"That's...not bad. But still a tad worse than the novel idea."

Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose, "How is his idea automatically better than mine if we suggested the exact same thing?!"

"Did you suggest cupcakes?" Donald asked simply.

"Well no, but-"

"Then that's why." Donald would have said more, but a sudden noise disrupted his speech. He placed the broken antenna back into his pocket, "Now I think we should high-tail it, I don't think the landlord wants us in here..."

* * *

Once the quartet found themselves back on track, Donald decided that it would be good for the group to begin bonding exercises prior to actually working together. Mickey didn't quite understand it, and Goofy was just ready to cooperate either way, no matter the situation.

Chernabog stayed quiet. But that was to be expected.

Mickey also didn't understand why they were on the roof of the apartment building of all places, but whatever.

Donald stood up from the edge of the roof, pacing around with a wiggling index finger, "Alright, now in order for us to work together, we're going to have to know we can trust each other. Now, we're going to start off by playing _Russian Roulette_ to determine the lucky son-of-a-gun who we're going to throw off the roof!"

"Wait, _what?!_" Mickey was ready to leave right then and there, but Donald stopped him before he could, "No! You can't leave! Not until we decide who gets thrown off!"

"Don, every single day you get a little bit more uncharacteristically insane. The straight man of the group shouldn't be standing here and telling me to jump off a building." Mickey stated bluntly, though Donald refused to adhere to his stereotypical tropes.

"It's partly my pride, to be honest. Now, everyone stand still, we're going to decide now. If the tosser tosses the _tossee, _then the tossee knows he can't trust the tosser, right? Ergo, the group as a whole will know the thrower's true alignment. If the tosser doesn't toss the tossee as per the game rules, then the group will trust that person, understood?"

"I guess..."

"Gosh, okay!"

With the winter winds being the only source of sound, Donald looked at the three. He placed a finger on Mickey's head, before going to Goofy's, and then to Chernabog's, and then back to Mickey's.

His finger went into rhythmic cycle, speeding up in the process.

"_Eenie, meenie, minie, mo, catch a feather by the toe..._"

This traditional way of decision settling ended in a result that foretold no realistic injuries. Seeing as Chernabog was the one that had the finger on him once Donald hit the last "_mo"._

Mickey thanked the gods above for such fortunate luck.

"Alright, Mick, toss or don't toss Chernabog off the roof."

Had the victim of this unruly toss be anyone actually living, himself most definitely included, Mickey might have been intimidated by the act. Thanks to Donald's not-so-subtle favoritism to the supposedly demonic broom, the former scenarios were no longer the case.

Without a second thought or care, Mickey carelessly grasped Chernabog by his "neck" and tossed him over the edge. No magical powers or demonic entities could save his ass now.

The three watched as their fourth member plunged and plunged below, Donald could only watch in shock as Chernabog collided against the parking lot, not making any notable indents in the process.

Donald gave Mickey a mild, slow clap in return, "Well, well, well...It seems as if the final horse has finally crossed the finish line. Congratulations Mick. You've passed the final test, and as such, you will be rewarded with a secret known only to those were able to dispel of the beast."

"Chernabog isn't actually a demon trapped in a broom; he's _a broom_."

Mickey didn't climb up three stairwells just to hear that.

* * *

After the quartet re-grouped, Donald briefly apologized for his "inane leadership", which he partly blamed on his favoritism of Chernabog, as it "softened his approaches" so to speak.

What he had in mind to accompany that apology was no more ethical than his previous behavior.

"Why the hell are we doing forty push-ups again?" Mickey asked, he wasn't even past number fifteen yet and he was already tired. Goofy on the other hand was doing pleasantly well.

"Strengthen you up for escape attempts." Donald answered, as if it were the obvious.

"Then how come you're sitting over there drinking lemonade?"

"I take _Five-Hour Energy,_ I'm good to go for the next five hours. Then I'll just take another one, and so on and so on!"

Mickey gritted his teeth as he forced himself to his twenty-seventh push-up, "Then how come you don't just give us some_ Five-Hour Energy_?!"

"On _your_ salary? No way. You can't afford it."

Mickey attempted to ignore him from then on to focus his energy on his push-ups, seeing as now he only had a handful left to do. However, Donald decided to spurt out one final comment that threw him completely off-track.

"You should lift more, y'know that?"

Mickey collapsed right then and there, breathing against the mildly hot parking lot. Donald walked up to him and began scoring his fitness gram based on his sudden result.

"Hm, wow! Pretty good, Mr. Iwan!...Except according to my observances, you fell at number thirty-nine, one more and you would have made it!" Donald said with a uncharacteristically cheery tone. It was as if he forced all of his pessimism out of him in exchange for faux positivity.

Mickey sighed, slowly turning his head to the left to see how Goofy was fairing in his test.

What he saw completely shocked him.

"G-Goofy!? H-How did you- How did you finish your push-ups already!?"

Goofy shrugged meekly, "Gosh Mick, it's only forty push-ups!"

Mickey heaved another sigh, if he couldn't hold his own in a mental and phsyical exercises, how was he expected to complete any of the others?

* * *

After a day of more mental trust, physical, and emotion exercises, (Which Mickey believed were nothing more than short-torture activities.) Donald ordered all of the quartet members back to the storeroom for further discussion.

"Alright! So our first day went by pretty smooth, not great, could have been better, but it's getting there! According to my statistics, Chernabog was the one who showed the most success in all courses, as a result, he will be the quartet's commander-in-chief. Goofy was second, he receives the role of treasurer, and Mickey, you were last so congratulations!...You're now the _plebian_."

"The plebi-_what?_"

"Plebian. The runt of the litter. _The Little Red Dog Who Couldn't_. Basically the person with the least skills in total, although to be fair, you do show good promise. I'm sure you can do something with that pleb status of yours so as long as you follow orders and don't screw up."

Mickey rolled his eyes, but accepted the supposed compliment regardless, "So, you told us to come here for one final assignment before dismissal. Mind telling us what it is?"

To that, Donald retrieved his broken antenna, and began tapping on the chalkboard, "Oh yeah! Thanks for that reminder Mick! Now, in order to close our first successful day as a power quartet, we're going to participate in a small four-way banter. Now, we need a name for the group, so everyone just pitch names back and forth, and we'll pick the one that sounds the most obnoxious. Deal?"

Once he received two nods of approval, he carried on, "Now I for one, believe the name "_The Big D and the Cunt Destroyers_" is a fairly passable name. But if anyone has anything better, please feel free to go ahead and-"

Donald didn't even get to finish his sentence, as dozens of quartet names flew in all at once.

"_The "Group"!_"

"_Krispy Kreme Macdonald's Jamtastic Roller Boogey Prawn Experience_!"

"_The Goshiers!_"

"_Rebels With No Souls!_"

"One word. _Xanadu!_"

"_The Cyberkinetic Lords of Highland!_"

"_Brain Explosion!_"

"_The Crackadamia Nuts!_"

"_Swishy-Swishy Dish Water!_"

"It's a quartet name, not a band name!"

"_Pens of Justice!_"

"_The__ Elusive Peacock Lodge of Derogatory Intelligence!_"

"_The Writers' Strike Guild of America!_"

_"Yum-Custard's Deliciously Decisive Express!"_

"No Goofy, I refuse to have my codename in the title!"

"Woah, woah!" Donald held up his hands, having heard the perfect name throughout the sea of suggestions. He pointed at Goofy, "Goofy! What did you just suggest?"

Goofy blinked, surprised by the sudden outburst, "Uh, _Yum-Custard's Deliciously Decisive Express_?"**_  
_**

"No, before that!"

"_Pens of Justice_?"_  
_

"Keep going!"

"_The Crackadamia Nuts_?"

"You're almost there!"

"_Xanadu_?"

Donald snapped happily. He hastily wrote the word on the chalkboard, "That's what I was talking about, that's it, _that's_ our name! _Xanadu! _It's short, simple, effective, and as obnoxious as its origin is stupid. All in favor of this new name, say I!"

"I!" Goofy exclaimed, raising his hand.

"I...?" Mickey questionably agreed as well.

Chernabog tipped over and fell to the floor again.

"Well, good enough for me! Alright team, as of today, we are now _Xanadu!_ Our efforts from now on will concern researching information from certain locations and using them as references in our forecoming horrible, horrible book that we'll submit! If we're successful, we can prove that those tightwads are just as faulty as the schtick that they forced me to do while Goofy sat at a cubicle and was told to take it easy."

The other members of _Xanadu_ nodded in understanding, Donald paced around in front of the chalkboard. There was only one final thing left on his mind before dismissal.

"The only problem is...What is our crap-tastic book going to be about?"

And just like that, they were back in business.

* * *

**********Date I Started Writing This Chapter: November 14th, 2012**  
**Date I Finished Writing This Chapter: November 30th , 2012**

**********Alright, chapter ten is finally done! Sorry for it being shorter than all the previous ones, but eh, this was an establishment chapter for the story's current plot point. I hope you enjoyed it otherwise!**

**********Next time: With the group's current objective being to write an intentionally bad book, Don, Mick, "Goofy", and Chernie B. begin researching by "having fun". **

**********Please don't forget to review, I love reading them! See you guys real soon!**


	11. IO Port

**Obligatory late merry Christmas post because that's expected of a good host. Also happy New Year's! That being said, let's move onto our lone reviewer from last chapter.**

**Mighty Agamemnon: Thanks for reviewing! Yeah, the position of leader and the power that comes with it gets to Donald's head more often than not. He'll get over it though...eventually!**

**Word Count: 3419 words.**

**Remember when I said the KH-side of the story will begin to get more prominent as the story goes on? Yeah, well that kinda starts happening here.**

* * *

I/O Port

Alternative Title: The Psuedo-Legend of Sir Terra Gaylord the XIVth

_A channel through which data is transferred between an input or output device and the microprocessor. The port appears to the CPU as one or more memory addresses that it can use to send or receive data._

It was the nineteenth of December when the Xanadu quartet finally began really discussing things with each other. However, regardless of how many times they went over their agenda, there always remained one simple component that they couldn't help but save for last.

The book's actual content.

When it came time to discuss _that,_ a variety of ideas flew across the room, all of which conflicted and clashed with each other. What some thought were good ideas, other did not, when one pitched an idea that seemed to be of actual quality, the others would point that out as well. The only one who seemed to be not participating entirely was Chernabog, though Donald insisted that the broom was pitching, so as long as they _believe_ it's pitching.

The ideas were more or less, passable suggestions that sound interesting, but more often than not fail in execution. Mickey was particularly interested in showcasing a possible idea regarding handsome adolescent knights wielding gigantic keys.

He was disappointed to find that his standing ovation was rather non-existent.

For some reason, Donald was interested in pitching a story based off of a possible real life scenario with certain scientific and non-fictionelements. Better known as sci-fi and fantasy, respectively. See, it was Donald's belief that stories that happen to involve either of those two genres do not necessarily have to follow the rules of a coherent plot due to their vivid imagination value.

"Why bother explaining a few plot holes when you can have a flying leviathan attack a raging behemoth?" was his reasoning for that belief. Donald's theory was supported by a few examples he listed right off the bat, all of which particularly terrible once one overlooks the amount of imaginable content.

Ergo, it was Donald's belief that the only way to produce an intentionally terrible novel is by following those hypothesis'. At first, everyone would mistakingly believe it to be a great form of poetic and literary justice, and it would only be when college professors analyze it does the true unbelievable content pop up.

So as long as the story included some form of romance between two people, Goofy was okay with any direction the story went in.

It came as no surprise that Chernabog wished the story to include vast amounts of gore.

"Hey, hey, guys wait!" Mickey raised his hand in midst of the nonsensical arguing, causing them all to shut up and look at him, "Guys! Guys! If I can ask just one question..._Why are we at Medieval Times?_"** [1]**

Mickey points towards the center of the arena, where two timid actors portraying valiant knights square off in a clearly staged battle. The battle of wits pits both actors neck-and-neck as they attempt to throw each other off of their majestic stallions using sharp lances.

Donald holds his free index finger in the air as he uses his other hand to chew a succulent, unfairly priced drumstick, "The reason we're at_ Medieval Times_ is to get inspiration for the concept of the book. I told you that when we left like a half-hour ago."

Mickey props himself up by resting his chin on his hands, "Are you sure this isn't just an excuse to get us to go to a dinner theater at high, expensive prices?"

Donald sips his drink, nodding head with a smile. His smile lingers even after he removes the soda from his mouth, "Of course I am! I've decided that all this week, we're going to be visiting a variety of fun places in order to get ideas for the novel. Trust me, this is all in the _research and_ development phase."

Mickey pokes his drumstick, "I don't believe you, but whatever."

As he fiddles around with his food in every way possible sans eating it, the two knights in the arena continue to face off. In the end, out of a already-wimpish matchup, the wimpier actor falls before his barely-braver actor brethren.

Goofy waves his drumstick at the fallen actor, realizing something blatantly obvious, "Is it just me, or are these fights staged?..."

Goofy's standing ovation is worse than Mickey's.

Donald lampshades the lack of demonstrated common sense by furthering the conversation, "_Right..._Anyhow, let's at least try to get some conceptual work done on the book before the show ends. So, assuming we were all paying attention, what _does _everyone think of a medieval setting?"

"That falls under fantasy, doesn't it? You said that was much easier to deceive readers with, so isn't it a shoe-in for concept?" asked Mickey. Donald nodded, but added a few points to clarify his reasoning.

"While that is true, the book has to be successful _sales-wise_ so that people actually get to be _fooled_ by how dumb it is. The fantasy books out now are all the same, and they all blend in with each other. I mean, if I took out two fucking books from a sack that both deal with vampiric adolescents, chances are you wouldn't be able to tell them apart. Our problem here is that we need a _hook,_ something to reel in unsuspecting readers. Something that says, _"Hey! This crap premise hasn't been done before!" _then and only then, will we get what we deserve."_  
_

Goofy looked up from his food, "Gawrsh, so basically what you mean is, it has to have a unique premise, but _terrible _execution!"

"Exactly! Now you're all talking my language!" Donald snapped his finger in delight, but it was drowned out by the gore-ific roaring of the crowd, all cheering for the protagonist actor to smite the smug villain.

_"Gut him, gut him, _**_do it already!_**_"_

_"I paid an unfair amount of money to get in here, I expect to see some heads flying!"_

_"How is it a medieval show if there's no blood?!"_

_"Uh sir, I'm pretty sure this **fucking** drumstick was supposed to come with barbecue sauce..."_

_"Off with his cancerous head!"_

_"If I order the ten-piece meal, does that mean I also get the quarter-pounder as a side?"_

Donald jumped at the sudden interruption. He tried expressing himself again once they all calmed down, but the second he did, the crowd began cheering again as the antagonist had been defeated.

Done in by a lance chest impalement.

"As I was saying-" Donald tried once again for his fifteen seconds of fame, but blood soakers interrupted him. The mechanical special effect devices spewed artificial blood on everyone within the first two seating rows in an attempt to mimic the fake blood protruding from the antagonist's chest.

As soon as the dastardly faux liquid came in contact with the audience members, they began cheering wildly again, ecstatic over the thought of blood pouring down their faces and clothes. In hindsight, this sounded ridiculous, but it's a family outing kind of place, where everyone is encouraged to "_have fun_", even if it's the stupidest form of fun available.

Besides, the warning at the start of the show held extreme caution to those sitting in the front rows, for the "blood zone" was most likely going to strike them.

Which is why the members of Xanadu were seated at the highest row with pride.

Despite that, some blood _did_ manage to get on Donald's face, they must have aimed the soakers too high.

With a grim scowl, Donald placed two fingers on his eyelids, angrily wiping them with as best he could. Once he had done that, he just stared down at the arena in frustration, his "delight" having expired.

"It's a sad day when humanity cheers over blood soaking their faces."

Mickey smiled, having not saw that coming, "Gee Don, that's a real deep metaphor!"

"That's just it, it's _not_ a metaphor."

The show continued with its next few acts after the blood soakers de-activated, leaving Donald to sulk in a puddle of his own fake-blood. Once he got over it, the quartet continued brainstorming over their next topic of business.

"Alright, let's get this out of the way before this fake blood turns my hair from white to red." Donald grabbed a clump of his hair and squeezed it as if it were a rag, releasing a streams of fake blood out.

"Hero or heroine?"

The result of the vote were a landslide, except for Goofy.

Everyone who had voted for the masculine gender turned to Goofy, who was the only person who supported the feminist-catering option. Upon realizing the spotlight was on him, he shrugged, "What? I think it'd be unique if we had a _mary-sue_ female character!"

Donald and Mickey shook their heads in refusal, and so did Chernabog, or at least, that's what Goofy had assumed.

"No. It's not creative at all and the concept is only good when making intentionally bad _fan-_fiction. A female original character is only asking to get ignored, I for one, suggest a male protagonist. Not because I'm biased, but because it's for your own good."

"Gawrsh, it was just a suggestion..."

Donald took out a notepad from his pocket, shaking his head as he scrawled down a short sentence requesting to never listen to Goofy's ideas if they happen to involve faux perceptions of creativity, "And a bad one too."

With that, Donald flipped to another page on the notepad, "Alright. I don't want to put words in anyone's mouths, but I believe we have enough material for a short five to ten paragraph draft on the medieval idea. Since we don't have much stuff conceptual-wise to pad this drabble with, I'm just going to make stuff up as we go along based on this crapfest's performance." Donald pointed to the arena.

As Donald began writing the heading of the new notepad entry, he snapped his fingers quickly at his friends, "Dialogue, _**dialogue, **_pitch me some dialogue!"

* * *

_A Draft_

_Version 1.1_

_Written by Don Anselmo_

_Sir Terra Gaylord the XIVth is a man that can be described in many words. Most of which are arbitrary because the man himself is the vehicle of many whimsical and bizarre tales that go about through the various towns he just happens to travel though. He is a roamer first and foremost, a so-called warrior that everyone bows down to, hailing from the town of Gallowmare and the country of Deparatus._

_These inspiring stories usually depict Sir Terra as a bulky hero with the "power of a thousand suns", so to speak. He is essentially described as the hero that everyone wishes to be, but cannot, it's even said that he slain a mythical beast known only to others as the "Ironed Imprisoner"._

_Of course, these are all fictitious tales of lore that only serve to buff up Sir Terra in an attempt to intimidate those that wish to oppose him in a battle of wits. The true reality of Sir Terra is quite disappointing, and very unfortunate, embarrassing, and a chore to explain. _

_It may be hard to believe at first. But no, Sir Terra did not battle the draconian master Maleficent at the top of Mt. Fragdor. Sir Terra did not rescue Lady Aqua from the burning Infernal Tower that stands at the top of Pyronicus Cliff. No, in fact it was very much the exact opposite. And no, Sir Terra did not have a brotherly friendship with local Merchant Ventus.__In fact they were actually bitter rivals who battled over Lady Aqua only to be defeated by another individual known only as "The Black Knight"._

_Contrary to popular belief, he was not of African descent._

_Very few know the true tale of Sir Terra Gaylord the XIVth, he roamed the Earth, but not to let everyone know what a badass he was, he was just so scared of being defeated that he had to make up tales about himself to seem cool. With a name like "Gaylord" being his surname, he didn't expect to go very far in life._

_It would be more ideal for the many who see and idolize Sir Terra for his bravery (much rather lack of to be frank.) to never learn of this information. The idea that one's hero has been nothing more than a mere lie can be traumatizing to someone, especially if they're of young age._

_That being said, a majority of the legends Sir Terra is known for having slain were actually slain by Lady Aqua, who just so happens to be the quiet yet elegant and graceful knight that prowls the lands at the strike of dawn. She keeps her identity hidden solely because she does not wish to be rewarded with material things for her good deeds._

_However, after being swept off her feet by the demonic "Black Knight", (whom's identity does not require an alchemist to decipher.) Deparatus once again stood at risk of being attacked by deadly forces. The most prominent of which being the malevolent warlock, Xehanort, who leads an army of demon spawn from the Netherworld, known only as the "Heartless"._

_Sir Terra volunteered to actually train himself in order to slay these forecoming forces, and so, his journey truly started under the guise of a wise monk crustacean known as Sebastian. _

_He was also part-Jamaican too, but that was irrelevant. _

_With chapped lips and a dull, edgy demeanor, Terra followed the intelligent lobster's advice. It was worth noting that Terra desperately needed such advice too, because his strength was not the only attribute of his that was extremely exaggerated, his IQ was as well._

_He grew up not being the sharpest tool in the shed, only second to his father if one were to look for the dullest, whom he inherited his smarts from._

_It was not a valuable exchange._

* * *

Donald patted the notepad on the table, finally finished with the rough draft of the medieval concept, "Alright! It took a while, but I was able to produce our first ever draft! Now, I want **_only_ **positive feedback on this. Questions are allowed but word them so that they're either positive, neutral, or chaotic neutral."

Mickey was the first to voice a positively-worded complaint, "If we're trying to avoid catering to feminists, then why do we have Lady Aqua acting like the true badass of the story?"

For a second, it was almost as if Donald looked completely dumbfounded, as if beaten to his own little game. However, at the last second, he retraced his look of confusion and replaced it with a look of certainty, "Irony."

"Irony?"

Donald nodded, "Irony. It's satire towards feminists, in a way that completely envelopes everything they want and love about a female protagonist into a whole...a whole big juicy, creamy feminist pie. Alright! Next question?"

"Uhh, gawrsh, over here!" Donald turned to Goofy, who was raising his hand eagerly, "Yes Goofy?"

"Gawrsh, how is it possible for us to use the expression "sharpest tool in the shed" if sheds didn't exist in those times? I don't think the expression itself existed either..."

Once again, Donald found himself on the short end of the stick. In an quick and blatant attempt to save himself for his screw-up, he came up with something on the spot, "It's fantasy, remember? We're able to bend the laws of what makes sense and what doesn't! So say in that scenario, that expression _does _get invented, see what I'm saying?"

Goofy nodded, "Oh! Yeah, I getcha loud and clear now!" the quartet would have sat there and discussed more about their rough draft, had it not been for an employee interrupting their fun.

"Um, excuse me?"

Donald turned to the nice blonde woman that had fiddled with their business, "Uh, yeah 'mam? What can we do for you?"

The blonde woman cocked an eyebrow in confusion, as if she was the one in the right and the quartet were the bad guys. She motioned her hand towards the rest of the arena.

The awkward tone of her voice helped get the realization going along, "Um sir...The show ended about twenty minutes ago and you're all still here, all of the other guests are gone, and the actors are preparing for their next performance. I'm going to have to ask you all to leave before the next show starts."

* * *

Minnie dipped her finger into the jar of hazelnut spread, smiling when the chocolate dollop made contact with her tongue, "Today seems to be a slow day, doesn't it?"

Daisy looked up at her, the two women were currently in Daisy's house, talking of simpleton topics and other things to pass the time. The television was on in the background, but neither found themselves endorsed in the talk show that was on.

"I guess, something seems off though. It's only December, Christmas is in a few more days, why would it be slow?"

Minnie shrugged as she spread some nutella on a piece of bread, "That's the first I've heard of Christmas in a while. I think the whole Don fiasco kind of overshadowed it." Minnie said as she bit into the chocolate bread, "I'm sorry, it's just that Mick's kinda gotten me addicted to these for some reason.

Daisy narrowed her eyes. She was getting suspicious all of a sudden at the mere mention of Donald's name, "Speaking of Don, I haven't seen him in a while. Have you?"

Minnie shook her head, "Not really. Although now that I think about it, I also haven't seen Mick in a while either."

At this point, they both stared at each other with questionable looks. They both collectively hummed in regards to what happened to their friends.

"You don't think-..." Daisy mumbled

"-that they?..." Minnie finished the question for her.

It was from here that they realized that their speculation on what had happened to the two were vastly different than what the other had in mind.

"_Died?_"_  
_

"_Eloped?_"

While both scenarios sounded almost plausible, they probably would have heard something from both of them if that was the case.

Minnie held up a finger, "Maybe they're shopping for gifts?"

Daisy tapped her fingers on the table as she began to think about the possibilities of that happening, "Hm, no...I don't think Don would spend more than a day gift shopping, it just doesn't suit him. He always buys crappy gift without a single regret in what he chooses! In fact, I think he's probably already done."

Minnie thought she heard Daisy mutter something about Donald's blatant cheap-ism, but the comment was shoved under the rug before she could ask about it. Instead, she just decided to drop it and forward the conversation.

"He could be wrapping them!"

Daisy shook her head in response, "Nah, I found out last year that his one regret was never learning how to wrap presents. It sure explained why he always put his gifts in bags..."

"Have _you_ finished your shopping yet?"

"Of course! I just don't have them out lying around, they're all in my closet. Bought 'em all day one!"

"But why are they in the closet?"

"Robbery is becoming more and more prominent as the years go by, I just can't afford to have my gifts out in the open stuck under some tree! It's too risky!"

And so, their conversation regarding Donald and Mickey's whereabouts had been stirred away by the topic of the holidays, sparing the former two's fate should the women find out about their little quartet.

The two eventually settled on the conclusion that they were out doing something important.

* * *

After being inconveniently ushered out of Medieval Times by a rather unsavory employee, the members of Xanadu sat inside their getaway vehicle, more commonly known as Donald's car.

While the car ride home wasn't particularly silent, nothing about it stood out either. Just casual discussion about casual things. It was only when Donald looked in the car mirror did he realize how typical their car ride was.

So, rather than attempt to start a conversation, he instead decided to go with a more arbitrary route.

"You know, freaking shot in the dark but is anyone still hungry?"

Everyone else but Chernabog nodded, but his neglect to participate in the vote was obvious.

"_White Castle?_"**[2]** Donald suggested.

"White Caslte." Mickey and Goofy repeated with a smile.

* * *

**[1]: Medieval Times is a dinner theater, the theme is what it says on the tin. **

**[2]: White Castle is a restaurant that sells tiny burgers for the sake of selling tiny burgers.**

**And so, the rough draft writing starts out a bit rocky, but eh, those guys will get their game eventually. The following chapters will examine our quartet experimenting with concept research in a variety of places to both learn more information for their upcoming shit of a novel, as well as to "bond" more as a group.**

**As I said earlier, the KH side of the story will begin to become more prominent starting with this chapter. As Donald explores more possible scenarios, more rough drafts featuring those characters will start to be written. The problem for him is trying to choose one that can get people's attention.**

**Please review! I love reading them! **

**As always, see ya real soon!**


End file.
